The Survival Trials
by RadicalCat
Summary: The Ghost crew complete a mission at a terrible cost. Ezra finds himself being funneled through the slave system, & becoming a sacrificial candidate in The Survivalist Trial- an underground death match, broadcast on the holonet. Now Ezra must use his survival skills & adapt to the kill or be killed mentality of the Trials. Can the Ghost crew find him in time?
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hi everyone.  
This is something I hope you'll enjoy, I've been working on it for a while and I'm quite pleased what I've managed to put out. It is my typical drama riddled, family centric style.  
If you're at all familiar with the Hunger Games series, I think you can guess this wont be fic for the fluff-hearted. Its not so much a Crossover, as hunger game elements in the Rebels universe.

There is going to be a lot of heart break, triggers, pain and hopefully some deep character development.

I value your criticism and input very highly, and I truly appreciate it when you take the time to review. If you enjoy this chapter, and would like to see more or see something changed, the most effective thing you can do is review. I have an awful record of completing fics, and I would very much like to fix that.

Thank you to my Beta's Unfathomablefandoms and Darksaber3434. You poor, wonderful people! I appreciate all the support! Thank you my fellow Trashfans!

Let the drama begin.

 **The Survival Trials**

Chapter 1

* * *

Everything had been going so well.

Now that the _Ghost_ crew knew they were one of many factions all fighting for the galactic recovery from the scourge of the Empire- the mission stakes had been raised.

Everyone threw themselves into their roles, fulfilling more than their share of missions and doling out a taste of justice and rebellion everywhere they went.

It was an exhilarating time.

It had been several weeks since Ahsoka Tano- Fulcrums' last direct mission.

The mission itself had ended in a firefight with a fleet of TIE fighters, and they only survived thanks to Hera's brilliant piloting skills- as per the usual. The _Ghost_ , however, had been put out of commission until the Crew could resource all the parts needed for repairs and then they'd been bogged down in running short jobs for Vizargo to pay for it all. After all, they weren't much of a rebel cell without a ship, so missions working towards the Empire's end had been put on hold for the time being.

But now the ship was patched up, pieces replaced or repaired, and her crew was itching to get back to work. So everyone was understandably riled by the Togruta rebel leader's sudden presence on the communications that morning.

Hera called the Crew into the passenger area, surprising everyone when they found Ahsoka Tano was waiting for them on the Holonet.

 _"I have a mission that requires a light hand."_

Ezra had grinned and wiggled his fingers, "Well I've got _two_ , Ahsoka, ma'am."

Kanan nudged him hard with an elbow. "Fuclrum, sir?" Ezra tried, but the Jedi simply rolled his eyes.

"What's the mission?" Kanan asked, business first, as usual.

Ahsoka told them as much as she knew about a Corellian freighter that would be carrying something precious. The only Empire element was that they were to avoid getting the Imperials' involved and they would be stealing directly from black market dealers, so the job required a certain amount of restraint and subtlety.

"Not exactly our specialty," Ezra remarked quietly, earning another nudge from Kanan and a wry smile from Sabine.

"Just one question," Hera put in. " _What_ are we stealing?"

The image flickered and changed into a blue holo model of a cube. It had intricate line work and a definable seam between the pieces.

"Kanan," Ezra began, "Is that-"

"A Holocron." the Jedi answered, awe in his voice.  
A Holocron could carry any infinite number of information. It could be empty. It might contain surviving Jedi texts. It might have information on surviving Jedi... could it even be possible?

Ahsoka cleared her throat and gave a hard look over both Master and Padawan. _"We cannot be sure of its authenticity until we have an opportunity to study it. But the rumour is it was found deep within the wreckage of a Jedi Temple on Taris of the Ojoster sector._ Her eyes flicked over Kanan's again and he nodded, recognizing the planet of the old Jedi tower. " _Overlooked by the Empire and picked up by raiders. It's supposedly headed for a_ collector _s auction."  
_  
Ezra scowled briefly.

 _"I know I can trust you all to retrieve it at any cost,"_ Ahsoka pressed, her pretty face was carefully kept bare of any desperation or anxiety, but the urgency in her tone was clear. She paused for a moment to gauge their expressions before continuing. _"We cannot let even the possibility of a relic like this falling into the wrong hands."_

All the _Ghost_ crew heartily agreed. And a plan was set.

The freighter was that was carrying the Holocron was scheduled for one stop over, a refueling station on the planet Balmorra, to one of the largest weapon manufacturing plants in the galaxy.  
The refueling station was located at the main planetary spaceport of Sobrik, which was neighbored by _Camp Vigi_ l; an Imperial militant stronghold. The crew could not affprd to attract any attention here, for all their sakes.  
After Balmorra, the ships destination was unlisted, and any likelihood of catching up the Holocron again would be nil.

There would be no room for error, less the _Ghost_ crew wished to take on the planet's entire imperial forces.

Kanan was going to distract the ship captain when he exited at the port, so the ship would be grounded. Hera would be on standby in the _Phantom_ , and Chopper was going to be piloting the _Ghost_ just outside the atmosphere.

Zeb and Sabine would cover as reconnaissance on the ground and back up if needed. Ezra was headed straight in through the ship's vents, finding the cargo, and getting the kriff out of there.

Ezra was given the ship's blueprints to study; an YT Series Light Freighter. He poured over the plans several times a day in the week leading up to the heist, until he was certain he knew the deck-plan as well as he knew the _Ghost_ 's.

He would be the only one going into the ship itself, so it was vital he knew exactly what he was up against. Everyone took their role seriously and by the morning of the mission itself, the entire crew felt ready and prepared. They took their positions and waited the ships appearance.

* * *

It was edging a little close to noon now and the ship had been scheduled for a quarter to midday.

 _"No sign of the ship yet?_ " Hera pressed though her com, she was sitting at the _Phantom's_ helm just outside the spaceport wall.

"Not yet," Ezra answered. He, Sabine and Zeb were laid out flat on the refueling station roof, watching the empty docking bay for activity through a pair of macrobiolulars. He passed the binoculars to Zeb while Sabine scanned the area below them. "They're clearly still waiting for it though."

It was true; the dock staff all looked edgy and ready to begin the refueling process as soon as the ship landed.

"Maybe it's just running a little late," Kanan suggested. He was stationed in the port bar, awaiting the captain. His profile had made it clear that was his usual drop-in the moment he made port. Kanan was going to keep the man busy for as long as it took for the team to get the Holocron off the ship.

As if called down by its mention, a large beaten cargo hauler dropped down out of the cloud level and began to descend towards the docking bay.

"That is _not_ a Corellian freighter," Sabine said with an edge to her voice, quickly scanning the ship as it pulled into the bay and depressurized.

Ezra groaned. "You mean I wasted all that time and I learned the _wrong_ layout?"

A ramp descended and a humanoid man came down the ramp as fast as it would settle. He hurried into the spaceport, throwing one shaky glance over his shoulder.

"It's still a freighter though right?" Zeb demanded. "It'll still be in the boss's office."

"Yeah, but the inside will be laid out all wrong," Ezra insisted, his voice taking on a whining tone. "I did all that studying."

Sabine ignored the two and activated her comlink. "Specter One- our information was all wrong. This ship is entirely different."

 _"How different?"_ Kanan demanded. _"I'm about to sit down with the_ _C_ _aptain, he's just walked in the door. It's the guy from the profile, so it must still be his ship; it's likely still his cargo."_

 _"_ Well I don't know what tell you, _"_ Sabine replied, annoyed. _"_ But that is not the ship and crew we planned for."

Kanan was quietened as he thought through what this meant for the mission. Logic and caution said he should call the plan off before things could swing the wrong way for them, but a smaller voice inside him disagreed. That Holocron was a piece of the past the rebellion was trying to salvage. It was a piece of _his_ past, the one the Empire had done their very best to exterminate. And if everything went well, it might become part of Ezra's future.

If- _If_ \- the Holocron was real, it might hold innumerable possibilities, key information that might aid the Rebellion in the war against the Empire.

But was it worth the risk? Kanan hesitated, and then lifted the com to his chin.  
 _"Spectre Six, you're the one going in blind. What do you think? Do you want to abort?"_

Ezra gave the ship a hard look. This ship was all hard angles and rusted edges, with two large turbine engines flanking the internal cargo hold. He wouldn't be able to leap onto the top hatch from here like he'd planned, he'd have to drop down the wall and come up under it. It was doable, it would just take longer. Not to mention the ventilation layout was certainly going to be different once he was on board; but when had unfamiliar terrain ever deterred him before?

Somewhere on that burner, was a Holocron, Ezra felt it in his gut.

He grinned, the smile spreading over his face slowly and he turned to Sabine as he raised his com. "Oh, heck no. I'm ready to go to _work_."

Sabine shook her head at him and smiled under her helmet and Zeb snorted in approval.

" _Well,_ _alright_ _then,"_ Kanan said, his voice coming through clear and gratified. _"Everyone to their posts, the count starts now."_

Sabine scanned the ship one last time, checking for any additional changes to the situation, the refueling attendants have gotten well under way now and the ship was truly locked down.  
"Ok, kid," Sabine said, turning her helmet to face Ezra. "Time to do your thing."

He gave her a grin, and stood to his feet. "Will you miss me?" he asked in a playful tone.

"Yes- like a hole in the head," Zeb answered for her, giving the boys knees a shove towards the edge of the roof. "Now, _go_."

"See you soon," Ezra said, and with a wave of his hand he mock saluted them both, rolled his legs over the wall and disappeared.

"He needs some new material," Zeb snorted, going back to scouting the port.

"He needs a new brain if he thinks it's working," Sabine shot back.

When Zeb didn't immediately agree she glanced beside her and saw the Lasat was giving her a flat look.

"What?" she demanded and his brow incline got a little more intense. The unspoken accusation clears in the air. Sabine gasped. "Are you _mad_? It's _Ezra_! Of course it's not working."

"Whatever you say, Lass." He shrugged and replaced his macrobinoculars.

Sabine huffed, but returned her attention to the busy spaceport.

They watched Ezra's figure skulking his way towards the docking bay. He ducked behind a shipping crate to avoid a pair of Troopers marching the perimeter. He vanished at one point behind a wall, and reappeared from an exhaust grate under the ship's access ramp a moment later.

Zeb huffed a smile. "The kids getting pretty good at skulking around." he admitted, his tone suggesting this was as high a praise as Ezra was likely to ever get from the Guard.

Sabine frowned and barley humm'd a reply in agreement, keeping her scanners on the dock staff, ready to alert Ezra to trouble.

They watched him scale the port wall and vanished up the ramp into the ship when the refuelling attendees had their back turned.

Zeb and Sabine waited in silence, six and a half minutes ticking away on the Mandalorian's chronometer. The sun was beating down on the exposed rooftop and Zeb wiped a sheen of sweat out of his eyes.

A tall, well-dressed Zygerrian suddenly appeared at the entrance to the port. He stood with his hands behind his back, looking up to the freighter appraisingly, and then began to march up the ramp.

Sabine jolted, watching the refuelling attendants uncapping the hull and packing the fuel hose away. She quickly lifted her hand to her comlink, "Specter Two…we have company."

 _"What kind of company?"_ Hera demanded.

 _"_ The kind that's boarding the ship and getting ready to take off in it."

 _"But their captain is sitting at the bar!"_ Hera argued.

Zeb growled, the draw plank drew up into the ship. _"_ Well…they're leaving without him!"

Hera groaned and they hear her gritting her teeth. _"Frang it all! Get Specter Six out of there. I'm collecting Specter One."_

 _"_ Specter Six? _"_ Sabine commend, there was no immediate answer, and Sabine and Zeb saw the engines engage.

Sabine reached for her comlink again. "Specter Six, abort the mission. I repeat, _abort_ the mission."

There was only a dead silence on the radio and Sabine thumped her fist into the roof. "Blast it, Specter Six, unmute your com!"

Ezra didn't answer, and Sabine got to her feet. "Come on," she told Zeb, "we gotta slow that ship down." and they took off for the airstrip.

* * *

Kanan muted his comm and lurched into action; if lurching meant to slowly meander his way about the busy bar, collecting an unwatched drink to fit in with the other patrons and approaching the bar at his own pace.

The captain had just entered the port, and predictably made a beeline for the bar. He sat himself at the counter and ordered a drink with a wave of his hand. The bartender took his time, but clearly didn't need to be told what the man was drinking. The captain was looking a little frazzled, but that was not unexpected since he was hauling high risk goods across the galaxy.

Kanan watched him receive his drink and then walked right up to the man slumped against the bar.

"I know you," he told the captain with a slight slur to words and mannerisms. He let one eyebrow incline a little lower than the other- giving him an uneven squint.

"No you don't," the captain replied sharply. "I ain't seen your face before."

"Your ship," Kanna said, pointing a thumb towards the docking bay. "I know it. You did a job for my buddy once, I was hoping we could chat about a job offer I have. I'd like to keep it quiet and I know you have a solid reputation."

"Well…that ain't my ship, mister." The captain huffed, swilling his drink around the glass mournfully before taking a sip.

Kanan froze. "What'd you mean?" he pressed.

The captain shrugged. "I'm done with the game. My run got bought out. It's not worth the risks working with the Zygerrians." He took another heavy swig of his drink, turning away.

Zygerrians? Kanan cursed himself. Now that _was_ a problem.

He lay a hand on the captain's shoulder and gave him a distracted pat good-bye. "I just realised you were right, I don't know you." And melted into the crowd.

Kanan was just heading for the door when Hera entered the bar, eyes searching for him.

"We have a problem," she told him.

"I know."  
They left for the _Phantom_ in a hurry.

* * *

Ezra was halfway between the second and first floor ventilation shafts, right above the galley when he heard footsteps under his vent, but what caught his attention was the humanoid voice that spoke in basic.

 _"Are we prepared to reach the Invisible Market?"_

Ezra jolted.

The voice that answered the speaker hissed in a hard unfamiliar tongue, it sounded like it was berating him.

The first voice replied, sounding apologetic, but Ezra couldn't get sure because it simply melted into a bunch of noises and hacking to his ears now.

It was clear nothing else would be spoken in a language he understood, so he moved on quietly.

 _Everyone_ had heard of the Invisible Market, a whole new level of criminal presence. It changed location every other week, making that much harder to find if you weren't invited. It dealt only in the worst the seedy underbelly of the galexy could offer.  
But that was the end of what anyone outside the circle knew.

Ezra had of course never been to the Invisible market, and he had no desire too either. But if the Holocron was headed there, there would be no telling what nasty end might befall the Jedi artifact.

Ezra thought hard, his resolve firming. He had to get the Holocron out of here, at any cost.

That was when he felt the walls begin to hum.

Ezra moved double time, sliding down vents and grabbing corners to change trajectory. He pulled his communicator off his belt and switched it off mute

"Can someone please explain why this ship is moving?" he demanded.

 _"Specter Six-abort the mission. Get off that ship!"_ Kanan answered quickly.

Ezra huffed and scrambled on his knees, throwing himself down another vent. "I would if I'd had the right blueprints! _"_ he hissed back into the commlink.

 _"Spectre Six…you better make an appearance out here soon, the ship has left the docking bay. We're headed for the security station to slow it down."_ Sabine's voice cut in, not panicked yet but clearly imploring him to be anxious. _"They'll be doing a life signature scan any minute now. Get out."_

Ezra could feel the walls of the ship humming contently; he could hear the speed of the ships accentuation. He didn't have long. He cursed furiously. "I'm gonna grab the Holocron and meet you topside. You better freaking catch me if I fall off!"

 _"No, forget the_ _H_ _olocron!"_ Kanan answered in a hard voice.

 _"_ _What!?"_ Ezra was truly surprised. "We went to all this trouble-"

" _Leave it-just get out of there!"_

"But what about the mission?! Fulcrum is counting on us!"

" _Get off that ship-_ Now _, Ezra_ _!_ _"_

Ezra felt the argument slipping away at the use of his name and grit his teeth in frustration. "Alright! Fine. Give me a minute."

 _"The Phantom's on it way,"_ Hera's voice answered.

Ezra could hear the small engine firing up in the background and grinned despite his dissatisfaction. He knew he could count on them to come find him.

Ezra scrambled upwards and reached the fourth floor, but could not travel up this vent any further. He moved along until he reached a cross ways, his instincts and lay out memory told him he should move right if he wanted to come out along the upper walkways and find a hatch door to the outside of the ship. He moved forwards in that direction- but something, something put claws into his mind and jerked his attention to the left.

Ezra hesitated, he'd always trusted his instincts before. Closing his eyes, he looked inwards and felt his awareness spread outwards.  
There was something pulling him that direction, the route would take him over the main cabin, deeper into the ship and closer to- The Holocron. That had to be it. It had to be real! What else would glow that bright in a place this dark?

Kanan had already stressed to him, the very real possibility; that even _if_ this artifact was the real deal- it could very well be blank. Or worse then blank, it might be encrypted with a detailed and comprehensive report on something trivial that was no longer relevant in this galaxy.

But it might also hold the key to Ezra's training as a Jedi, or possibly the intel the rebellion needed. No one would know for sure until it was opened- and it could only be opened by a Force user.

What kind of Force user would find it at the Invisible Market?

Ezra opened his eyes and he was truly torn for a moment. The Holocron was _so_ close, it was almost begging him to take it away. Calling to him. It shouldn't be here- it should be in the hands of Ahsoka or Kanan. It should be the in hands of a _Jedi_ , and Ezra was going to get it to them.

But, wasn't his crew waiting for him to come back to them? It was Kanan's direct order. But who knew what the Holocron might have hidden inside it? 'Forget' the Holocron, indeed!

Ezra grit his teeth. "Ugh- Kanan's going to kill me," he whispered to himself. He used the cross vent corner to kick off and took off to the left.

* * *

Sabine was having a hard time slowing down the security barriers communication.

As soon as it was clear the ship would break atmosphere before Ezra could get out, the next and last point of escape for the boy would be the small Imperial security station where they might be able to dock for a moment and get away before anyone could react.

Zeb had taken out a solitary TIE fighter pilot and shoved his limp body behind a crate while they _borrowed_ the ship. They headed straight for the satellite com center and Zeb dropped her off, staying in the TIE, ready to dock with the freighter or act as a distraction if necessary.

Only two troopers were on station and four clerks. They were all left stunned on the floor and Sabine got to work. The freighter ship was fourth ship away from the barrier and Sabine immediately began hacking into the protocol system. Causing havoc and slowing down the progress of ships' ascension was being approved.

She caused a block on the ship in line before the freighter and began working on the communicator log, causing traffic in the lines so the mainframe had a harder time working around her havoc. It was buying her seconds. Minutes at most.

 _"Spectre Six- you got less than a minute,"_ she ordered though the com.

When he didn't immediately answer she tried again. _"Spectre Six-"_

"Yeah I heard you. I'm kind of busy!" he hissed back.

 _"You should be_ busy _escaping!"_ she hissed back and cursed as an approval for the ship blocking the freighter processed. _"Karablast."_

She heard Ezra huff in amusement on the other line and couldn't help the smallest smile herself.

 _"Get moving, Spectre Six,"_ Kanan demanded on the other end.

 _"Yeah- I'm working on it!"_ Ezra replied in low frustrated voice.

Kanan dropped the active com and put his face into his hands. "Hera-" he began.

"I know! I know!" she shot back. She was focusing on piloting the _Phantom_ through the spaceport traffic. Not enough to slow her down, but enough to make her need to think as she rocketed between them.

Kanan lifted the com with a groan. _"Spectre Six-what's_ _taking_ _so long?"_

"Have you ever navigated a ship from inside the walls?" Ezra shot back furiously. "I'm working as fast and as quietly as I can. Maybe if you would stop shouting-"

 _"Do it faster,_ " Kanan shot back. _"Spectre Six, you need to get off that_ _ship_ _!_ Now _!"_

Ezra grit his teeth and withheld the frustrated groan. He was never going to get off the ship if he couldn't concentrate.

Ezra muted his com and pulling out his multi-tool, unscrewed the grate bolts and dropped into the main office cabin. It was a wide room with a single large desk set in far end and one long thin portal window that ran the back wall.

He was surprised it was empty but glad of it, and put away his blaster saber. A drop attack would really have been his only option at this point- but he was happy to avoid one.  
He moved straight for the safe in the corner, hearing the inaudible ringing grow louder. Some part of him told him he'd made the right decision and it put a little of his anxiety to rest.

He pulled out his picks and got to work. He was working on a different countdown to the rest of the crew and this felt more important. At least if there was one thing the mission informant got right- it was the type of safe the Holocron was likely to be kept in, and it was luckily one that Ezra had worked on before. He knew this manufactures major faults, and the predicable alignment of the pistons.

The safe offered little opposition to his skill, even while his fingertips hummed with anticipation. There was three small clicks, and ezra quietly wrenched the door open. The ringing in his ears ceased.

The Holocron was pushed to the back, and Ezra reached in and quickly packed it safely away inside his suit. His chest felt less tight the moment it settled against him and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He closed the safe, and readjusted the lock, cleaning the residue from his hands with a rag and leaving the safe as he'd found it. With any luck, it would be days before it was opened again, and by then he planned to be long gone.

 _Now_ , Ezra thought, _let's see how bad the situation is_.

He dove for the small thin window at the back of the room. Outside he could see the hazy orange aura of Balmorra, glowing amongst the stars, and then a security station slipped past the view port.

The freighter ship was now officially in orbit.

"Oh Huttspit!" Ezra cursed, and vaulted onto the desk, and jumped back up into the vent, leaving the room as he found it.

* * *

Hera finally broke the atmosphere and pulled up a way from the security station. If Zeb had trouble pulling up alongside the freighter in the TIE, she would distract the dealer pilot with a little friendly fire.

The freighter did not outgun them, but it certainly won out in shield density. A battle between them would really only go one way, and it would certainly draw the attention of the entire Imperial security force, camped out just underneath them.

But she was willing to take the chance if it meant they could get their youngest Specter the time to get out.

They waited in silence as the freighter pulled up to the security station. Her hands tightened on the yoke, eyes narrowing, ready to leap into action the moment she was given the all clear.

Kanan raised his com. " _Ok, Spectre Six, are you in position?"_

There was no answer. Kanan forced himself to wait two whole heart beats before trying again.

 _"Spectre Six?"_ he demanded voice louder.

The com remained silent and Hera set him an anxious glance.

The freighter drew even with the station.

 _"Come on, kid!"_ Zeb hissed as he gritted his teeth. _"I'm waiting for you!"_

The freighter continued to breeze under the TIE.

 _"Ezra!_ " Kanana shouted. _"Get out of the blastin' ship!"_

Sabine felt her heart drop out of her throat and down into her boots as the freighter glided past the security station without a hitch. The life signature scanner would certainly tell the pilot if there was an extra life form on board now.

 _"Spectre Six-"_ she began, joining the four other voices on the com link currently shouting out demands to take his communicator off mute.

Ezra crawled as fast as he could through the walls and around to the side ventilation. If he was right he would find the drop right about-

In his haste, Ezra found empty space under his elbows and slid face first down the chute. He put out his gloves and heels and slowed his descent down into the bowels of the ship.

He saw a flat-bed coming up to meet him and was careful to land on in a crouch to soften to noise of his fall.

He felt around and smelled, yes, _garbage_. His heart gave a happy jerk, as he'd found exactly what he wanted. He might not be completely sunk yet.

He located a cleaning grate and double checked that the room was empty before kicking it open. He fell through and landed on a pile of protein cans and an old crate. It made a little noise and Ezra lay waiting for a guard to come bursting in the door. None did.

Well not all landings are perfect, He thought, climbing to his feet. He pulled out the com and removed the mute.

 _"If you don't answer us right now-"_

"Whoa, I'm here," Ezra cut though Hera's words before she could finish the threat. "Relax…I needed to have a little quiet to concentrate, okay!"

 _"You were supposed to concentrate on getting off the ship!"_ Hera bellowed. Ezra winced at the frayed tone in her voice, he hated to be the one to upset her.

 _"They've scanned you, Ezra! They'll know you're on board,"_ Sabine broke in.

 _"You were supposed to meet me on topside!"_ Zeb growled.

 _"What do you think you're doing?!"_ Kanan demanded.

"My job," Ezra answered swiftly, trying to get a word in. _"Right_ now _I'm finding a good place to hide."_ Ezra looked around himself. The bay was a standard disposal hold, but there was no ship parts here, not even a pressurizer. So much for building his own escape pod.

 _"You shouldn't be on that ship anymore! What happened?"_ Hera's voice cut in.

"I got ...turned around."

Chopper those that moment interject a series of low tones, insinuating Ezra was less than capable.

"Unfair, Chopper! I was working under duress!"

 _"Enough."_ Kanan snapped. _"We need to get you off that ship before they make the jump."_

Ezra turned back to the disposal door bay and igniting his saber, put it through the key panels. Locking himself inside and hopefully locking out the rest of the ship.

"Well I can't exactly jump ship right now! Unless anyone packed me a breathing tube or a pressure suit I didn't know about." Ezra ripped open a crate to explore the inside, searching for something he might be able to use or that would spark his imagination.

 _"Where are you?"_ Kanan demanded.

"The disposal bay. I've got maybe five or seven minutes," Ezra replied, his eyes fell out a small emergency disposal chute. "There's a jettison chute -and before you ask, there's no way I can fit myself in there."

 _"Did you try?"_ Zeb's demanded, frustrated.

 _"_ Even I'm not that good. _"_

His eyes fell onto two halves of an old lockbox and despite the fear in him, there was a wash of relief.

 _"_ Sabine?" he asked suddenly.

 _"What?"_

 _"_ Will you be able to find my com's location if I leave the frequency active?"

There was a minute's pause as she thought though what he was asking. _"As long as you can do it before that ship goes into hyper-space. Otherwise it'll go too far out of range before the power dies,"_ she answered.

Zeb frowned, the suspicion thick in his voice _"What are you two planning?"_

Ezra smiled. He had a feeling Sabine already knew what he was asking for. He lunged for the lockbox and snapped into action; dismantling the rusted lock with ease and realigning the skewed hinges.

 _"Ezra-"_ Kanan demanded on the comlink, he wasn't hearing anything he wanted to hear.

"Great! Okay here's the plan," Ezra said brightly, into his communicator, juggling the lock box in his arms. "I'm going to jettison a lockbox with my com active on the inside. Make sure you pick that up before following this burner." He pulled a wire cutter out of his pocket and snipped out a corroded section. He began stripping the coating off and reattaching the two ends.

 _"What? No-"_ Kanan began and then cut himself off with a jerk of realisation, and the com went silent as the last puzzle piece slid into place. _"You went_ back _for the_ Holocron _?!"_ he shouted, outrage and fury, thick in his voice.

Ezra winced on his end but forced a shrug into his voice. "Fulcrum was counting on it. What was I supposed to do?"

Kanan roared into the comlink. _"Leave it! Like I ordered you too!"_

Ezra finished rewiring the pressure lock back together and opened and closed the box experimentally, pleased with the results. "Yeah…well…I'm sorry, but I couldn't just let it get away. Who knows what's on this!" Ezra reached into his suit and pulled out the Holocron and placed it carefully, reverently, inside the box. He unclipped his saber, and slid the slingshot off his arm, and added them to the pile. Though he knew they barely weighed much at all, he immediately felt the absence of his weapons, and it put him off balance. He frowned into the box, and after a moment, he pulled a burnt holodisk from the inner lining of his sleeve. He held it to his chest once, squeezed it tight and then dropped that in too."I heard the shippers talking about heading straight to the Invisible Market. It wasn't going to fall into good hands there."

He could almost hear the sudden worry in Kanan's voice, beaten out only by his anger. _"The_ Invisible Market _?! And what about you, Ezra? What do you expect to happen once you're found? You won't be safe- not once they realize what you stole!"_

"Stole? I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a dirty Imperial brat that's run off from the local academy."

 _"That's an_ awful _lie,"_ Sabine cut in worriedly.

Ezra huffed. _"_ That's what makes it work. It's so plain it can't _not_ be true."

 _"These aren't_ _I_ _mperials, Ezra!"_ Kanan snapped. _"They won't arrest you, they might kill you! Did you even_ think _of that?"_

Ezra felt his gut clench in distress, but he already knew this. He'd known it before he got on the ship and he known the risk when he made the wrong turn on purpose. The crew wouldn't be able to save him if he was shot on sight, but it was a risk he'd decided to take. He shook his head to clear the terror fog. _"Yes, Kanan, I did."_ he shot back indignantly, _"And I decided I'll just have to convince them not too."_

 _"This is no time for jokes!"_ Hera shouted, there was a clear ring of distress in her voice and Ezra felt guilt creep into his chest.

 _"_ I'm not joking!" Ezra replied, trying to instil peace in their last few moments in contact, "These are Black-Market dealers yeah? I may not speak their language; but maybe they speak mine! Money and status. If have neither, I'm not worth the time. Trust me."

 _"Ezra-"_

"Look, Kanan. It's too late, I'm already stuck on here. I'm going to send you the Holocron and then you'll come find me at the Invisible Market. There's no point arguing about it now-

 _"And what if they decide you aren't worth the trouble of keeping alive until then?"_ Kanan hissed.

"They will, I'll make sure of it."

 _"Specter Three and Four- get to your turrets,"_ Hera ordered suddenly, _"We're going to blow the ship's engine out before it can go anywhere."_

 _"Already waiting,"_ Zeb answered quickly, followed but Chopper's agreement.

 _"Bua bu babau!"_

"With the entire Empire right underneath us!" Ezra shot back. "No Hera! Nothing is worth all of that coming down on us right now!"

The com went quiet for just a blip.

 _"_ You _are, Ezra,"_ Hera answered first. _"And we're coming to get you now!"_

Ezra felt his heart swell and his chest suddenly felt very as tight as his cheeks from the grin, but it was quickly swallowed by worry.

"No…Hera!" he said, firmly and suddenly very serious. "This ship will outlast the Phantom alone! You gotta focus on picking up the Holocron. Complete the mission. For Fulcrum, for the Rebellion; _then_ come find me. I'll be alright. I know you'll find me. You're only a hyper jump away."

There was silence and a settling sense defeat from all sides of the communicator. At that moment Ezra heard movement on the floor above him. He ducked a little out of habit and immediately lowered his voice and muffled the communicator's speaker in his palm. "Okay…we're running out of time. I'll meet you at market?"

 _"Don't you know anything else about it? Co-ordinates? A location marker?"_ Kanan stressed, finally audibly breathing on his end of the line again.

"Nope." Ezra answered shortly.

 _"Just how are we supposed to find this place, Kid?"_ Zeb demanded.

Ezra chewed his bottom lip, worrying I between his teeth and tightening his hold on the lockbox "I guess you'll just have to look extra hard."

 _"It could be days!"_ Sabine argued, her voice strained, but holding together. " _Do you really expect us to believe you wont draw attention to yourself?"_

"I'll behave."

 _"_ _Just like when you listen when I give direct orders?"_ Kanan asked tightly.

Ezra smiled despite himself. "Don't worry guys- I'm not gonna try using the Force or breaking myself out if I can help it. I'll sit tight and wait for you. You'll find me, I know you will."

The angry tone on their end of the communicators was suddenly no longer palpable outrage that he'd put himself in this situation, but now just incredibly anxious.

 _"And what if your stupid cover doesn't work?"_ Sabine cut in. _"What if they don't believe you?"_

"I'll make them believe me. You worry too much," Ezra whispered, trying to keep an ear cocked for movement on his floor but smiling at the concern in her voice. "I've been playing this game before I fell in with you lot. Don't worry about me."

 _"Ezra-"_ Kanan began.

"I'll stay alive. I promise."

Kanan winced. _"Ezra…that's not something you can promise-"  
_  
Another hatch opened and shut on the floor above, and Ezra heard a faint set of boots marching purposefully along a grated walkway.

"I have to go guys. I'm going to jettison the Holocron with my things. You better pick my stuff up, because I don't want the market getting their hands on my saber!"

Hera swallowed hard, unwilling to accept the situation but knowing time with the boy was running short. Forget the lightsaber- she didn't want the market getting their hands on _him_! Her heart was aching. She glanced to Kanan still frozen in place by her side. His jaw was tight and his hands were clenched on his knees. His eyes were glued to the freighters ship in the distance as it lifted ever higher into space and further out of their reach.

"We _will_ find you Ezra," Hera breathed. It wasn't a promise, it was a fact.

Ezra smiled, he already knew this, but a piece of him still jumped, thrilled to hear them say it. "You better, because I'm counting on it." He moved quietly towards the disposal chute and balanced the open lockbox in one arm.

There was another hatch hiss and Ezra knew it was on his level this time. They'd combed the ship and now his floor was all that was left.  
"Time's up guys."

 _"Just stay alive,"_ Hera ordered firmly.

 _"And in one piece!_ " Sabine added quickly.

Zeb voice rumbled in unease before he spoke, _"Don't get dead, kid."_

Chopper trilled three short beeps in the background. _Beerp-bwap bwap._

Despite himself, Ezra laughed a little. "That's a big list. I'll do my best guys. I'll be waiting for you."

There was half a beat of tense silence and Ezra found he couldn't drop the connection. Even though the market dealers would be right outside his door any moment-

 _"May the_ Force _be with you, Padawan."_

Ezra straightened and sighed, suddenly all the worry in his bones eased. It wasn't gone, but it was soothed.

 _"_ And with you, Master. _"_ He replied, surprised at the serious tenor of his own voice. It was time.

Before he could lose his nerve, Ezra dropped the communicator into the lockbox without waiting another second. He slammed it closed and ran two fingers over the combination key panel, and the box seams gave a gentle hiss as the inside pressurized.

Ezra slipped the box into the chute. "I'll miss you guys," he said quietly, then slid the inner panel down and lay his hand against the keypad and ignited the drop.

The lockbox sat for half a second- and then it was sucked away from him all at once into the vacuum of space, and disappeared into the blackness. The ship hummed under his feet and against his fingers on the walls. The stars outside the port hole began to move in one direction, faster than light and became a blue streaked blur.

The freighter ship had entered hyperspace.

Ezra swallowed down on the panicked fluttering in his gut. "Come get me soon," he said quietly, mostly to calm himself.

There was a hard thump on the disposal holds door.

Ezra had been found.

* * *

 **R &R** for more Chapters! This is not going to end well...


	2. Chapter 2

Hi followers and new readers. it was about time for an update- I'm so sorry. I had a busy month, but i've got a few prepared for you so hold onto your feels because this fic isn't for the fluff-hearted. Tell me what you think.

Much love for Unfathomablefandoms- who pushes me to write a little everyday and is a wonderful Beta and friend 3

 **The Survival Trial**

Chapter 2

* * *

Ezra threw himself onto the floor behind the crate just as a buzzsaw broke through the jammed door. It roared loudly as it ate through the steelum, the echo and vibration bouncing around the small room, putting Ezra's teeth on edge. He really, really, hoped they put the buzz saw down before dealing with him.

He prayed to the Force they wouldn't check on their bounty well before they got to port either.  
He put his hands down to the floor, intending to push himself up, when his grip slipped in something slick. He looked to his hand, it was covered in thick engine grease.

An idea occurred to Ezra, and he quickly slicked a thick smear over his left cheek and a little down his suit, rubbing his palms down his knees. He hoped the defining saber scars were effectively covered. The effect succeeded in making him look plebeian, and hopefully, insignificant. Maybe, he would get out of this yet. He'd been in tighter spaces, which didn't just include vents.

A section of the door fell out of the frame with a heavy clang, and the hatch finally admitted the crew.

A heavy voice barked out something garbled and Ezra assumed it was the equivalent of a warning, something close to the threat of "come out before I shoot"- because the speaker almost immediately began to shoot up the place with a rather large two handed blaster. The laser blasts shot around the room, and the crate Ezra was ducking behind took a hit and, was both exploded, and pushed back a foot all at once.  
Ezra leapt to the side in time to avoid the destruction, but directly into the path of the gunner.

He threw his hands out, buried his face into the dirty floor and shouted, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" He didn't need to force any extra panic into his voice to sell the image.

The laser stream ceased firing over his head, but Ezra stayed splayed out on the dirty floor, breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut.

A pair of heavy boots approached him, and Ezra thought it was the gunner. A huge weight stepped onto his back and pressed him deep into the gritty floor, Ezra clenched his teeth as he was squashed like a vice. The gruff voice suddenly boomed right above him, making Ezra jump. Even in the jerky language full of sudden stops and hacking that Ezra couldn't understand, he could tell he was angry.  
It sounded like he was asking questions.

Ezra shook his head furiously, scraping his cheek on the floor.

The boots growled, and the foot in his back dug into his kidney a little further. Something round was pressed against the back of Ezra's skull and he felt his whole body go cold.

The voice repeated the same few hacking sounds, and to emphasis the point, the blaster nose was twisted into the skin on the back of his head- the pistol was still hot from blasting the room apart and the back of his head began to burn.

Ezra, very carefully, spread his fingers apart on the ground, and gave himself just enough leverage to turn his face to the side. "Basic! Basic!" he shouted out, still squeezing his eyes shut. "I only speak basic!"

The boots let out a low rumble, and Ezra thought it sounded annoyed more than anything now. The creature let out a stream of jerky sounds and judging by the way two of the other figures Ezra could sense in the doorway went running, Ezra assumed this particular pair of boots was in charge.

Ezra opened first one eye, very narrowly, then the other, and surveyed everything he could without lifting his face away from the floor.  
The creature above him had an angular humanoid face, with two wide bat like ears on either side on his head. His jaw and crown were edged with a stubby set of horns, and his face was set in the most hateful scowl Ezra had ever seen set his way.

He closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut and hoping maybe, he could get some tears flowing. No one liked to deal with crying children.

Suddenly the boot in his back was removed and he was ripped off the floor by a hand that knotted into his hair. He was pulled against the chest of the horned man and the blaster was jabbed hard into his ribs. Ezra grunted, but stayed silent.

The creature pulled Ezra's head back, exposing his neck, and for a brief flash of panic Ezra though the man was going to slit his throat or possibly bite him. Instead he put his sharp teeth close to Ezra's ear and hissed a series of low sounds. The blaster in his ribs was twisted at a painful angle and Ezra squirmed, only to be jerked hard in punishment for moving.

Ezra, correctly assumed this was a warning, that if he so much as put a toe out of line, he was as good as dead. So he slowly released his fingers on the humanoids arm, stood a little straighter, showing defeat and nodding weakly.

The creature grumbled and gave Ezra a hard shove forward. Ezra managed to catch himself on his knees and quickly got to his feet in time for the blaster to be jabbed into the small of his back.

The other Black Market dealers in the doorway, another humanoid species Ezra didn't know and another horned alien, stepped aside, their faces set into filthy sneers.

The blaster nudged Ezra, none too gently and Ezra got the hint. 'Walk'

He raised his arms out above his head and began to walk.

* * *

Hera's heart was hammering in her chest and her hands tightened on the helm **.**

The freighter hovered in the blackness for half a second- and then it pulled away, disappeared into the void of space and leaving a gaping hole in the galaxy where it had been.

And taking Ezra way with it.

The _Ghost_ crew were inconsolable, but professional.

So before anything else was done, Zeb re-docked the TIE at the station and the _Phantom_ collected him and Sabine.

The short flight back to the _Ghost_ was conducted in heavy silence, no one was willing to be the first to break it.

Ezra's parting words still echoing in their mind.

The sound of him closing the lockbox and shoving into the chute. A hiss of a pressurizer.  
A muffled but clear murmur.

"I'll miss you guys."  
Something they probably weren't supposed to hear.

And then lockbox was shot out into the vacuum of space with a loud hiss, leaving Ezra unarmed and without anyway to contact them, and then nothing.

Ezra had said he knew they would come, without so much as a twinge of fault in his voice.

He had complete, and infallible faith in them- something Ezra did not have a lot of.  
They would not let him down.

The _Phantom_ docked with the _Ghost_.

Chopper greeted them at the hatch and gave an unusually competent string of notes. He had already determined the velocity of the lockbox and had begun scanning the large area of space for the communicators signal.

Hera lay a hand on Kanan's shoulder and turned him to meet her eyes. "There is no force that will keep us from him." she told him sternly.

"I know." he said, nodding, but his eye did not show the confidence he had in his voice. "Let's get to work."

Sabine stood to attention and turned to Chopper. "Let's go get that Holocron. The sooner we do, the sooner we can go after them."

Hera pulled away towards the cockpit. "I've got to go inform Ahsoka." she said quietly and withdrew.

"I'll join you", Kanan added in a voice that left no room for argument. "I have some things I'd like to say to her."

Hera looked like she wanted to disagree, but decided against it, turned and let him follow.

Sabine, Chopper and Zeb wordlessly got moving.

They found the com beacon floating in space and Chopper was sent to retrieve it. For once he didn't argue, not even about going into the cold of space that made his joins rust. He did however made a show of waving the lockbox around when the cargo hold doors shut behind him and the cabin filled with oxygen.

"Yes, you're very brave." Sabine told him with a tight smile.

She and Zeb set about trying to undo the simple combo lock, but the box wouldn't depressurize.

"How-ugh does the kid get into these things?" Zeb grunted, failing to pull the box's two halves apart.

Sabine smirked, "He uses his brain, not his brawn."

"What brawn?" Zeb chided with a crooked smile. "For that matter, what brain?"

The box suddenly gave under the Lasat's pressure and snapped open.

Sabine leant forward, and the smile slipped right off her face at the sight of the lightsaber, the slingshot, and the communicator, sitting beside the bronze cube. Then her pupils dilated, and she dipped her hand into the box of treasures and pulled out a burnt out holodisk.

"Whats that?" Zeb asked, thinking perhaps the kid had found information on his jaunt through the ship.

"Its... just something I gave Ezra once." Sabine answered lamely, and after few seconds, she slipped it carefully into her belt.

Zeb lay a hand on her armored shoulder and pulled her a little closer.  
"Won't be long, and you can give it back to him."

Sabine nodded and pulled away, moving to go inform Hera and Kanan of the Holocron's retrieval.

Zeb watched her go and then reached into the lock box. He switched off the communicator, it had long lost its power charge but it had done the job Ezra had wanted it to do.

He pocketed the com, slingshot and the saber, intending to pass them on to Kanan for safe keeping later. He picked up the Holocron and passed the twice broken lockbox to Chopper.

"Dispose of this me, yeah?" he asked absently, studying the bronze surface of the cube.

Ahsoka, Kanan and Ezra had all seemed quite desperate to get their hands on it. Ezra seemingly most of all. Sometimes, Zeb just couldn't understand Jedi, with their tarditions and tenacity. Their rituals and riddles. Zeb shook his head.

Chopper let out a low hum.

"Yeah this is it." Zeb answered the droid. He passed the Holocron down to the mechanical hands, unwilling to look at it any deeper, when all he could see was a pretty cut of metal that might've cost his friend his life.

Chopper inspected the little cube carefully, then surprised Zeb by opening a little panel in the back of him, pulling out a little compartment where he placed the Holocron and closed the drawer. It disappeared into the seams of the droid like it was never there.

"What's this?" Zeb asked with a grin. "You been letting the kid give you upgrades?"

Chopper spun his head and indicated ' _No!_ ' then the droid shrugged his arms and withdrew them, exuding a few bashful notes, ' _well okay, maybe a few_.'

Zeb nodded, smiling wryly and followed Sabine through to the common room.

* * *

"You said 'any cost'!" Kanan shouted, pacing around the holo display.

Ahsoka's cloaked, lovely face showed little affront, a masterful display of contol. But the Crew could see the very corners of her mouth draw down in the shadows of her hood.

"I was pressing the importance of the mission, not suggesting Ezra trade himself for the Holocron." she said with a hard edge to her voice. "We are in exactly the same position as before, only now Ezra's life is at risk. Why did you allow him to make such a reckless move in the first place? You should have aborted the mission the moment your preparation was compromised."

Kanan grit his teeth. "We tried to tell him that, but he didn't want to let you down!"

Ahsoka frowned. "Are you sure it is me he didn't want to disappoint?"

Kanans eyes flashed. Hera chose that moment to step in.

"Throwing blame gets us no closer to getting Ezra back." her sharp tone cut through the tension. Her words reverberated through the two force sensitive beings.  
After a moment Kanan dropped his shoulders and sank into the copilot's seat with a huff. He ran a hand down his face, tugging at his goatee.

"His priorities are all screwed up." He told Ahsoka with a heavy voice. He looked at the floor, "I _ordered_ him to get out of there."

"Some of the most insightful Jedi, began as rebellious Padawans."

Kanan lifted his eyes for half a glance, his face an unreadble wall, and the returned to starting at the floor.  
"I'm sure he will find a way to make this work, Kanan." Ahsoka continued, her voice much gentler than before. "Ezra is much smarter than we give him credit for."

Hera nodded along with the Togruta.  
"He is, and he knows we're on the way." Kanan said nothing. "Now tell us, what do you know about the Invisible Markets?"

Ahsoka's face turned a little sour again, like theirs had the first time Ezra mentioned what he'd overheard.

"The Invisible is possibly one of the worst collections of scum in the galaxy." Ahsoka spoke and her voice didn't waver. "It's dismantled and moved every other week. I will need time to find the current one."

"Time isn't something Ezra has. If they realize who he is-" Kanan started, but he stopped when he saw Ahsoka's face.

"I realise we cannot afford to sit on this Kanan, but if I send you in with the wrong information or to the wrong location, We may waste what little time we do have." She turned her attention back to Hera, "Give me a time to confer with my informants, and I will contact you as soon as I can."  
Hera nodded once over her folded arms, and Ahsoka glanced once at Kanan taut from, before disabled the connection.

The cockpit was suddenly left in a tense silence. While Hera was avoiding putting too much thought into where Ezra might be right now and in what condition, Kanan on the other hand was letting his mind wallow in an alleyway consuming stream of images focusing on his Padawan. He had not been able to sense the boy since the ship had pulled away from them, and it put his blood pressure through the atmosphere.

"Kanan, Hera." Sabine appeared in the doorway, her face looked drawn. "We have the Holocron. We're ready to move when you are."

Hera offered the Mando girl a weak smile. "Thankyou Sabine. We're waiting for Fulcrum to contact us with a lead."

Sabine nodded tensely, moved to leave and then hesitated. Her eyes over to Kanan, slumped in his chair. "Kanan?"

He lifted his chin but his eyes remained distant. "mmmh?" he asked.

"We'll find him." Sabine said. Her voice more decided then she looked, but her eyes shone with fire. "We got you out Mustafar. We can get Ezra out of whatever mess he's gotten himself into."

Kanan lifted his eyes in time to share one long moment studying the girl, her mouth pursed into an unmoving line.

"I know Sabine," he said quietly, coming to his feet. "Thankyou."

She nodded to Hera and then pulled away from the door.

Kanan watched the Mandalorian girl go and then frowned at space long after she'd disappeared .  
"Did she say for my benefit, or hers?" he asked quietly.

Hera came to stand at his side, unconsciously leaning against his arm a little. "She and Ezra are close." she offered in a soft voice. "She's as worried as you are."

Kanan grimaced.  
They were all worried. The _Ghost_ was practically filled with a heavy cloud of dread.  
The worst part would be the waiting.

Something occurred to Kanan, Hera saw his eyes widen and the narrow.

"What?" she demanded.

Kanan stepped away from her side, his jaw set. "Set a course for Lothal." he told her firmly.

"What? Why?" Hera demanded, lurching to the controls and began to punch in the familiar coordinates.

"Because if the Invisible Markets are filled with the scum of the galaxy, then I think we might know someone with an idea of where to find it."

* * *

Ezra was marched through all six levels of the freighter ship. The big guy with the blaster stopped him with a hard yank of his suit outside the door to the main cabin.

Ezra swallowed hard. He'd only just been inside this room and robbed it blind. Had they already realized who he was? No, surely they would have searched him for the Holocron already.

 _What if they know you shunted it out into space?_ A cold voicing the back of his mind whispered. _Then I'm already dead, so there_ ' _s_ _no point worrying about it_ , he answered it firmly.

Ezra was jolted from his thoughts as his arms were roughly pulled behind him. He felt the cuffs circle his wrists and clamp down tightly. The hands gripped him much harder than necessary, but Ezra was sure to say and do nothing. If the worst thing that happened to him on board this ship was a couple of bruises; he was more than lucky.

The blaster was withdrawn from the middle of his back and the ache suddenly intensified without the pressure, But Ezra didn't have time to dwell on his aches because the main cabin doors were swung open and he was pushed inside.

Ezra landed on his kneecaps and fell to his side without his hands to catch him.

 _I'm small, I'm weak, you don't even notice me_ , he willed, squeezing his eyes shut and overselling the shudders that ran through his shoulders.

Boots stepped into the room behind him and gave him a hard nudge in the ribs with his left shoe as he passed.

Ezra felt two rough hands pull him to his feet by his upper arms and he struggled to find his feet.

He looked up for the first time, careful not to let his eyes drift to the corner of the room where he knew the safe sat, intact and undisturbed.  
Instead Ezra put all his focus into making his eyes wide and his mouth quiver. He'd failed at forcing any tears to appear but at least he looked convincingly exhausted. The muck down his suit would only help sell the street-rat image.

The guards holding him up dragged him towards the head of the room, where the horned man Ezra had christened Boots, was leaning down a little to spit sounds to the alien seated behind the desk.

This was another horned alien, only his features seemed a little sharper, the spurs along his jaw certainly did, and his face was narrower than Boots'. His wide cat ears twitched passively as Boots spat low words at his side, but not once did his yellow eyes so much as flicker away from Ezra.

This man was clearly the one in charge, he sat with his broad shoulders set back, ad his long hands folded neatly in front of him. His a dark red suit had accentuated shoulders a subtle gold trims. He dressed like someone who knew they had power.

Ezra deduced, Boots must only be a second. _Is he the captain?_ Ezra thought. _Then who was the man Kanan met?_

All while Boots was hissing in his ear, the seated alien stared at Ezra with a calculating look and Ezra did his best to let his face show anything other then fear and confusion. Ezra focused on making every other part of his body tremble and avoided the aliens studious gaze.

Boots finally fell quiet and took one step back, his wide and brutish face was smug and Ezra dearly wished he might one day have the opportunity to spit in it.

"So," the Captain in charge said, surprising Ezra with a formal and clean accented basic. He narrowed his glinting eyes. "You were found smuggling away in my disposal hold."

Ezra said nothing. He swallowed hard and heaved a very shallow shudder in his breath, but said nothing.

The man narrowed his eyes even further, and suddenly came to his feet, folding his hands behind his back.  
Ezra spotted a coiled electrowhip strapped to his belt as he drew level with the desk, and immediately decided not to test this man,  
The Capitan approached slowly, because everyone here was on _his_ time. He came to a stop in front of the boy, a mere two feet away. Ezra ducked his head and let out a whimper that he didn't have to fake.

"Why are you on my ship?"

"I-I-"

The man had the whip out almost as fast as Sabine could draw her blaster. Ezra felt his heart skip in fear- only just managing to keep the warning shudder that ran up his back withheld.

"Do not make me repeat myself in your _filthy_ tongue again, Child." His voice was picked clean of anything that might have resembled anything but barely withheld fury.

Ezra licked his lips once and took a deep gasp of air.  
"I- I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I just wanted to hide and the attendants were turned around and- I was running away- from the academy. I didn't know this was your ship! I'm _very_ sorry! My family is rich. You can ask them for money! They'll pay you for your time an-"

The creature held up a single finger to signal silence and Ezra obeyed with a jerk, clamping down on his words.

"Enough of your prattle, Child. I have heard enough."  
There was no softness here, not that Ezra expected any. But if he could assure them, that he was no threat to them in anyway... It was time to pull out the big guns.

Ezra, very quietly began to sob into his chest, hanging limp between the Guards. Through his down turned eyes, he saw the narrower, yet still sharp, captain's boots facing him, step away with a crisp turn of the heels.

The horned man in charge sank back into his seat and lay his hands on the arms rests. He inclined his head very slightly towards Boots. They began to talk between themselves in the jerky tongue Ezra was quickly growing to dislike hearing. The Captain clearly asking questions and Boots responding in short, sharp sentences.

Ezra didn't feel safe yet, especially hearing a clipped and unhappy quick passing of words between Captain and Boots.

Ezra could read faces pretty well, but the additional features and the stoic manner of the two threw him off. Not to mention Ezra was trying to study them through a thick curtain of his own hair and bleary eyes. Boots was easier to read then the Captain, first he looked irritable, then he looked mad, then annoyed, and finally placated. The captains expressions remained firm and stony expect for a very slight, distasteful, down turn at the corner of his mouth. The captain said one finally piece, and indicated towards Ezra with a flick of his hand. Boot's smiled thinly.

Ezra did not like that Boots looked contented with whatever had been decided about him, nor that the guards hands holding him by the shoulders suddenly tightened, like they expected him to start struggling.

But he had no time to act on any plans that might've come to mind, because Boots approached him suddenly, in four quick strides across the room. He pulled back his blaster off his back, and butt first began to bring it down. Ezra had half a moment to flick his eyes up to the Captain, who was sitting upright at his desk and meeting his gaze with a small and cold smile on his sharp face.

The blaster came down, hard- and Ezra was knocked into pain and out of consciousness.

* * *

 **R &R **for another update and to send Ezra some help.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Another update, I'm actually making headway! Tell me what you think. This _is_ a Hunger Games Au but how dark do you want this to go? I worry I've gone to far off kiter- so please tell me if things start getting _to_ intense, you know for a blood brawl that is. There will be no slash or anything- just triggers, war and abuse of peoples rights and freedoms. The light stuff!

This is only possible thanks to the _most patient_ and _devoted_ beta in the system 3  Unfathomablefandoms. You should all be so lucky. Go read her stuff because you will all be very impressed!

 **The Survival Trial**  
Chapter 3

* * *

He woke to a swaying sensation. His feet felt dead in his shoes. There was an awful smell choking in the air.

His arms ached and his face ached and his head was one big tender ache. He realised he was hanging from his wrists against a rough cold wall. His feet could only _just_ touch the floor if he stretched his spine, and stood on the balls of his feet.

Ezra groaned and rolled his sore neck, it made a loud crunching sound as he broke a knot.

A loud metal clang started him awake with a painful jolt. His ears were ringing, and the shackles hummed vibration down his arms. It was an extremely unpleasant way to wake, let alone the throbbing head.

Ezra blinked blearily up into a bright light, squinting hard as the torch burned his retinas. He was able to make out a tall figure standing above him, but the light was too bright and held at a high angle, putting the man's face hard to identify.

"No speaking." The figure hissed in gruff and broken basic. He lifted an iron baton into view of the light and then reached up and gave the bar Ezra's shackles suspended him from another hard tap. The metal rang and vibrated and Ezra's whole head ached. There was a very short rise of muffled and whispered groans on either side of him and Ezra realised he wasn't alone.

 _I'm on a slavers ship,_ Ezra thought dimly. _The one time I let myself get caught, and it couldn't have been a cargo of ration bars?_

He didn't have much experience with slavers.

He recognised it as just another unhappy truth of the world he lived in, but the trade rarely occurred on Lothal, where the Empire liked to keep count of their citizens. He knew it was outlawed on many of the central world's, but here in the far outer rim, people were unlikely to glance twice at you a lot of the time.  
Ezra had a feeling he was about to learn first hand what the worst of this gutter system had to offer.

 _I can do this,_ he thought. _I just need to keep my head down._ A small part of his mind spoke with Zeb's voice and added, ' _and your mouth shut_ ' followed by a gravely laugh. The sound cleared his head a little, an he took in a thin breath through his nose.

Ezra nodded quickly at the figure, his eyes watering, But the figure was still giving him a hard eye, waiting for a sign of rebellion. Ezra dropped his head again and waited for the guard to move on.

 _Be meek, be quiet- then run when they least expect it_. It was a classic play, and one Erza was well practiced – just perhaps not to this degree. He'd never let himself be put in shackles. But there was always room to expand his expertise, right?

As the guard growled under his breath and drew away, the light went with him in the torch he held high in one hand. When the light left Ezra realised how truly dark it was now. It left a glowing spots in his vision that took several minutes to fade.

Ezra closed his eyes and focused on trying to swallowing on his long dry mouth. Even the air tasted unwashed here. Breathing hard through his nose to clear it. He hissed as a pain flared across his face. Even the bridge of his nose ached. He winced- and that hurt too.

I must have one _wicked_ bruise, he mused.

He blinked to clear his eyes and looked up through his hair. Squinting hard through the dark. It seemed impenetrable.

 _How long have I been out?_ he wondered, hoping he wouldn't have to factor in a concussion to his list of problems.

It was going to be fine.

The crew were already on their way, surely. In the meantime Ezra could test his escape planning skills. Of course, he wasn't going to execute any them- he'd promised Kanan he wasn't going to try anything and for once he was going to keep that promise. He was going to keep all his promises.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

 _I really jumped in the sarlacc pit this time._

* * *

They found Vizago at the Broken Horn.

Hera pulled the _Ghost_ up short and turned in her seat to face the Crew seated in the cockpit.  
"Sabine, take the helm."

The Mandalorian girl stopped, her helmet half raised to pull over her head.  
"What? Why?"

"I'm not leaving this cockpit unattended until we hear from Fulcrum." Hera said firmly, standing and gesturing to the pilot's seat. Hera had long since carried on calling Ahsoka by her cover, even after the crew settled into addressing her by her name on occasion. "If she comm's while we're gone, I want you here ready to input the coordinates and Chopper is going to record the transmission. Talk to Fulcrum and discuss the best course of action if we don't get back in time. It's your call."

Sabine stood up, surprised. "Really? You trust me to run the comm?"

Hera had smiled, if a little grimly, laying a hand on the colourful armoured shoulder.  
"Of course I do, Sabine." her smile had vanished a little more."And considering how our last information session with Vizago went- I'd like to be there to negotiate myself this time. _He's_ the one I don't trust."

Sabine pursed her lips and nodded. No one on the _Ghost_ Crew had been happy to let Ezra indebt himself to the Devaronian, but at the time- it had truly been their only option.

So Sabine agreed to stay on board, promising to be ready for Ahsoka.

Hera had strapped on her blasters and gave a hard look over the Lasat and the Jedi, both prepared to face the Broken Horn.

There was just the Devaronian and his droids back on board his ship, hauling several unmarked crates **.**

Kanan announced his presence by clearing his throat and came to a stop at the border of the Broken Horn syndicate. Hera stopped along side him and Zeb took up firm stance at the back, folding his arms over his solid chest.

Cikatro Vizago's muscles tensed, and he shot a half glance over his shoulder and turned only a portion of his body to face them. Keeping his eyes focused on his data pad.

"Ah, my favourite radicals. If you have come about the mineral shipment, I am afraid I already have buyer-"

"We aren't here for rocks." Kanan cut in shortly, remembering his days shipping explosives to the mines on Cynda.

"Rocks? No-" the Devaronian seemed to think better of what he was saying and shook her head in annoyance. He eyed Kanan with intrest and nodded his head to Hera. "I see my information was very vaulble to your cause." Kanan scowled and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

Hera steped forwards, her jaw set. "And we need your information again, Vizago." She answered, tone firmer than steel."And we'll be paying in credits this time." She lifting up a hand and showed him a medium sized credit pouch. Now she had his attention.  
Vizago straightened, and now the hunched line of his posture improved, and he smiled. Turning to face them with his hands out, like he'd only just noticed them.

"Straight to business, I like!" His voice had lost all its gruffness and now it was friendly and boastful. "But my price will have to be decided, it depends on what information you are looking for?"  
His eyes moved over them all equally, but stopped when he didn't see who he was looking for- usually Ezra was the first to jump on him when it came to negotiations.

The crime lord's mouth quirked down, and he looked up at Kanan. "Where is the Jed- the uh- Boy?" he said quickly, switching his gaze to Hera as Kanan's eyes flashed.

"Watch your mouth, Vizago." Kanan growled.

Vizago quickly wiped any remorse from his face and tightened his jaw. He turned his shoulder and squared his feet, snorting airly.  
"You use such a harsh tone with Vizargo. And after I have gone out of my own way to give you help in the past. Perhaps you should go and send the Boy instead. He knows how to talk business. He is very sensible- Good head for making _deals_ , yes?"

Hera quickly stepped in front of Kanan before he could reply, tossing the bag of credits up into the air. Vizargo caught it quickly and held it at arm's length.

"What is this payment for, exactly?" He asked, weighing the pouch in one hand thoughtfully.

"We need to know everything you do about the Invisible Markets."

The words had an instant effect, much like they had on Ahsoka. Vizargo stiffened, and his mouth pursed. His eyes moved over them carefully for several moments before he shook his head.

"No. You should not go there. I do not know where they are held anyway. _Go_. I do not want to do business with you today." He turned to move towards his ship, tossing the credit pouch back and Hera's green lekku shifted as she snatched it out of the air.

"It's in _your_ best interest to help us." She cut in sharply, her voice tight. "If you wish to protect your _investments_."

The words bounced off the Devaronian, and he frowned, eyes narrowed as he glanced between the three- and then his eyes widened as he put the pieces together.

"You have _lost_ the _boy_ now? At the _Invisble Markets_?" he spat, his voice low in disbelief and outrage. "Do you people have no concept of _risk_?"

Kanan pushed forwards, balling his fists. He had a few choice words, and a few choice places he had for his fists, but Hera stopped him with a elbow in his sternum.  
"We need information Vizago, not an argument."

Vizargo huffed angrily, folding his arms and dropping his shoulders in defeat. "If the boy has gone to the Markets..." he muttered, stroking his chin in deep thought.

Hera gave him a solid five seconds of peace before she interrupted. "Vizago- we are _short_ on time."

The Devaronian lifted his eyes, narrowed and grim. "You may be have less than you think." he answered darkly, standing at full height and starting down his long nose. "It is true what I said before- I do not know where the Market is. I prefer to do my business without a knife in my back, see? But," he added, slinking his eyes towards Kanan for half a second. "I know they are held for several days at a time- then they will be dismantled. And, if the boy is there now, it is unlikely you will find him once they have moved."

Kanan stepped closer, mouth set in a firm line. "There must be something _useful_ you can tell us." He refused to accept that Ezra was trapped- or worse. He refused to even think that they could not save him this time. The Market was mysterious and vial, but it wasn't like they hadn't escaped from the tightest clutches of the Empire before.

The hackles of Vizago's jaw twitched. "Do not speak to me with insolence _Jedi_. It is not _I_ who lost the boy."

Kanan's whole body seemed to tigheten, his shoulders drawing back and his hands clenching into fists. They stared evenly at each other, drawing in hard breaths. _But Master, why did you let him speak to you like that?_ Kanan almost scoffed at the similarities.

"Enough." Hera snapped, her voice poisonous as she flicked a sharp eye over her shoulder at Kanan and then focused on Vizago. Her voice suddenly softened and she reached out and lay both hands on one of Vizago's. The Devaronian fliched back, surprised at the rebel Twi'lek's gentle touch.

"Vizago, we need intel. Intel we can use to help Ezra. You _must_ know something."

The Devaronian eyed her hands on his hand, and making an uncomfortable grumble and he carefully untangled his arm and withdrew. "What ship was he travelling on?"

"What's that got to do with it?" Zeb asked gruffly, breaking his terse silence.

Vizago trained his eyes on the Lasat's. "More than you know. Did they have money?"

The crew exchanged a glance. "They did." Kanan said slowly. What was he playing at?

Vizaro nodded, eyes narrowing. "Zygerrian?"

They nodded.

Vizargo let out a sharp snort of air and put a hand up to his horns. "Slavers." he hissed.

"Slavers?" Hera repeated sharply, swinging her wide eyes around to Kanan. Zeb let out a low growl.

"No- This is good." Vizrago said quickly.

"Good?" Zeb demanded, anger creeping into his voice.

"Yes- No slaver will waste good stock."

Zeb let out a quiet rumble from deep in his chest and took a large step away from the group, his hands tightening on his BO-rifle.  
Hera and Kanan ignored him, focusing on the crime lord.

"Find the market." Vizargo told them seriously, "But do not waste your time in the buyer's pens. Search the markets- look for things the boy may have owned. Nothing is truly wasted in the Invisible Market- It just finds a new hands. Put your credits in those hands and they may lead you back to the boy. and-" The Devaronian's mouth flattened into a hard line and it seemed he was holding in a sour taste in his mouth.

Kanan frowned. "Vizago-" he began, warning in his tone, but Hera put a hand on his arm.

Vizago snorted heavily and paced on his heel restlessly. "You... may need to search the Market for more than just clothes and trinkets. The Invisible Markets are a very popular place amoung the body dealers to acquire _fresh_ parts."

The words put a cold chill through the _Ghost_ crew's spines and Hera was suddenly very glad she had asked Sabine to stay behind.  
Beside her, Kanan drew in a long thin breath, his muscles tightening under her hand. She squeezed his arm and he shivered, shooting her a troubled look. She grimaced and tightened her hold on him.  
Neither of them wanted to think about poor Ezra being cut apart for _spare parts_ like an old droid.

A moment of silence stretched between the four and Vizago shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"But that is all I know." he said suddenly, taking half a step back from them and waving a hand in the direction they'd come. Trying to shoo them away. "Now go- and do _not_ mention the name Cikatro Vizago!"

Kanan slid his eyes to Hera's, and after a moment of silent communication- they made a move.  
Kanan pulled back, Zeb falling in at his side. Hera took a step forward into the Devaronian's space once more.

"This is yours." she said firmly and offered up pouch.

Vizago eyed it for a long moment before putting out a hand and accepting the bag. He weighed it heavily in his palms and gave Hera a long narrow look.  
"No." he said quietly and lay it back in her hands. "You will need all the credits you can afford."  
Hera blinked in genuine surprise. Before she could argue though, he put up a hand.

"I will expect payment at a later date- _plus_ interest." he said firmly. Then in a less solid tone, he added. "Besides, the boy still owes me favor. I am just, " he shrugged and tilted his horns in a knowing manner, _"protecting_ my _investments_."

Kanan tensed at the mention of Ezra's debt, but did not turn around. Hera weighed the pouch in her hand and drew her eyes back up to Vizago's.

"We will discuss the terms of that debt another time." she said darkly.

"I look forward to it." he answered earnestly, tipping his eyebrows.

Hera pulled away, frowning distastefully and marched to catch up to Kanan and Zeb. As they drew level with the large rock formations that formed the Broken Horn's hide out, Vizago called out, "Wait!"

The Ghost crew turned as one and looked back at the crime lord. The crime lord cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted.  
"The Markets- they are dangerous. So I hope I will be doing business will you all again soon."

Hera snorted, turned on her heel and pushed past the men, stalking away. Zeb followed her, his face set in a hard line, but Kanan took half a moment to watch the Devaronian.

Vizago dropped his hand, and stood straight. Then without moving his red eyes off of Kanan's, he nodded, deeply and only once.

Kanan squeezed his eyes tight and the inclined his own head, before tearing his eyes away and following Hera and Zeb towards the Ghost.

Perhaps there was more to Vizago then Kanan gave credit to.

"I still wouldn't trust him as far as Zeb could throw him." He muttered.

Sabine paced the cockpit, unintentionally doing laps around Chopper. The astromech began to hum angrily, and on her fourth circuit- he let out a string of angry tones.

Sabine came to a sudden stop, eyeing the droid like she hadn't realised he was there. "Ok, Ok Chop. I'm sitting down." She sank into the closest chair with a huff, putting her boots up on the seat in front.

The ship was quiet, and it unsettled her.

She missed the busy work that pushed her anxiety to the side. She missed the noise keeping her from hearing her thoughts. She missed Ezra.

Sabine realised there had never been an argument about whether or not they were going after him, not like the first time they met him. The boy had made an impact, and there would be no arguments.

Not that she wanted one! The very thought was quickly quenched under a bucket of guilt for even thinking it.

This was just, clearly different situation as to when Kanan had been taken.  
Back then it was a pressing grief for the loss of their leader, almost the minute he was gone. This time- this time it was less hopeless, but just as terrifying.

It was Chopper who'd pointed out the radio frequency was transmitting.  
Sabine remembered when Ezra had moved first, taking a seat in front of the transmitter they'd lifted from his parents' house. Only minutes ago, they'd left Kanan behind.  
Sabine wondered now, how he might have felt at that moment. Seated before the very machine his parents had built. His eyes had clouded for a moment- so Sabine took a seat beside him and turned the transmitter on, flicking the dials and quickly finding the right frequency between the static.

There had been a long cold moment of silence. Sabine had looked to Hera for direction, but the Twi'lek woman had stood, frozen in indecision for once as lost as they were.  
There was suddenly a loud clear silence, the silence of dead air.

No one had moved, and then Ezra reached for the microphone- his fingers not quite closing on it- so Sabine had pushed it into his hand.

Ezra had taken a deep breath- and began to speak.

It was surprisingly articulate, inspiring, hounest, but above all, it was hopeful. Just like Ezra.

Sabine thought about his radio broadcast, how his on the fly speech had given her a reason to keep her head in a time of great turmoil.

Everyone had sunken into their own reverie almost the instant they'd entered orbit that day, all balancing the likelihood of their leader's surely inevitable death.  
The longer Kanan was gone, the more likely a reality it seemed.

All except Ezra of course. The generator of their hope. The youngest and definitely the most reckless of their crew- their family. Her family.

Ezra had pushed them into finding Kanan last time. It was Ezra who'd stepped up and put his grief aside for their cause, for their family, for Kanan. Sabine didn't understand Jedi, or their connection to the universe. But at that moment, she had no doubt that Ezra could be a great one.

Sabine could do that now. She could do it for Ezra.

Sabine was ripped away from her thoughts as the communicator on the flight dash began to blink.

"Chop!" she cried, rushing to her feet.  
The astromech let out a string of eye rolling tones, inciting he was already working on it.

As he plugged into the deck console, Sabine dumped herself into the helm seat, firing up the _Ghost_ 's internal engines. As the ship hummed Sabine heard footsteps in the hallway behind her.

"You're just in time."She told Hera as she came through the door followed by Kanan and an unhappy Zeb. Sabine moved aside to let Hera take her seat behind the helm and let Kanan take at her right. The ship began to lift away from the earth, and began to rise from the atmosphere.  
The Twi'lek pilot keyed the com commands and the holojecter set in the dash lit up the cockpit with a blue glow.

A holojection of Ahsoka appeared, and she did not look pleased.

The rebel leader did not waste time with pleasantries, she simply launched into a string of coordinates.

Hera plugged them in as fast as they were delivered, and the _Ghost_ crew shot back as they were launched into hyperspace.

Chopper made a low grumble in protest at the harsh treatment as he was knocked back into the doorframe, but he was quickly hushed by Sabine who lay a gentle hand on his top.

Once the _Ghost_ was well on its way, cutting a slice through space, Hera flicked on the autopilot system and turned to face the holojection. "What can you tell us?"

Ahsoka pulled her cloaked shoulders back and pursed her full lips.

"The Invisible Market is currently located on the fourth outer moon of Ore, until disbanding in a minimum sixteen hours. You will be in transit in hyper space for another twelve, so you will only have four hours to find Ezra. From the description of the ship and the... Zygerrian presence, he will likely be put through the body market." Something in Ahsoka's eyes glimmered, something like a bad memory.

Zeb let out a narrow growl, but he was silenced with a side long look from Hera.

Kanan looked to Hera. "How much do we have in credit?"

Before Hera could answer, Ahsoka interrupted. "Credits will not be an issue. There will be a droid waiting for you at Docking Bay 34 with a credit transfer. Use whatever it will cost to buy Ezra out of there safely, without anyone asking too many questions."

The crew were pleased, but surprised by the Alliance's sudden generosity. They lived on the edge of means for a reason- not because they chose to.

However Sabine caught a flash of something that passed between Kanan and Hera.

"I need to interrupt." Sabine said suddenly and all five turned to face her

"Sabine-" Hera began, but Ahsoka silenced her with a wave of her hand.

"What do you need to say, Sabine Wren?"

Sabine frowned at the use of her full name, but did not let it break her stride. "When Kanan was taken, by the Empire itself- You said we couldn't afford to even take the risk of trying to get him back. But now Ezra's gotten himself bagged and your very first move is to send us a transfer full of money and point us in the right direction?"

Ahsoka frowned. "Is it that you do not think Ezra is worth the trouble?"

Sabine grit her teeth and suddenly wished she'd worn her helmet to face this argument, so she wouldn't have to worry about her scowl breaking her unbreakable Mandalorian facade.  
"Don't even _suggest_ that." She hissed and quickly composed her voice. "You're just trying to deflect my question. Answer me, why is Kanan different to you then Ezra? There's no question why he's important to us- but you? Why do you care? Why does the Alliance care?"

The room went quiet while Ahsoka stared evenly at Sabine. Sabine focused on holding her eye and firmed her jaw.  
And then, slowly Zeb took a step to the side, in line behind her and folded his arms with a firm glare. Chopper fell in at her feet.  
"Bua Bua- Buua." The astromech said with a drawl.

Hera looked to Kanan, who hadn't moved, his eyes still focused on the rebel leader.

Ahsoka suddenly broke the eye contact with a nod to Sabine and then, to her surprise, smiled a little.

"I can see why he had so much faith in you all. I pity any slaver that stands between you."  
She turned her attention to Kanan "Perhaps it is time to be a little more honest with the people we put so much trust in. And hopefully, in time, with Ezra."

Kanan's brow twitched. "Not now, Ahsoka."

"What is she talking about?" Sabine demanded.

Hera stood up and came forward now. "Sabine, you are right, there _is_ more to Ezra's role in the Rebellion- but please, let us focus on getting Ezra back safely before we start that discussion."

Sabine held her breath for just a moment as she took in the words. Hera's eyes were trained on her, boring deep and asking only for one thing: trust. Sabine's shoulders dropped.  
"Ok." she said quietly and lifted her eyes, nodding gently. "Ok, lets get him back.

* * *

Ezra realised he must have fallen asleep at one point, because he woke up with a start. His whole body ached from hanging by his wrists and his lips began to crack and sting.

There was a moan on his right and Ezra jerked in surprise. He'd almost completely forgotten there were others down here. Some probably in far worse condition than his. It was so dark, so quiet and resignation and defeat were thick in the air.

Ezra licked his sore lips and sucked in a dry breath. "Hey." he whispered, his voice barely more than a shaped breath. But even that small sound cut through the awful pressing silence like a knife.  
"Is someone there?" he asked, wincing as his words faded into silence.  
There was no reply.

Ezra took a deep breath, the motion put a deep ache through his lungs. His arms and legs had gone mostly numb, but it was still hard to breathe. He frowned and tried again. "Will they bring us water?"

He could hear hard dry breathing to his right, maybe only a few feet away, But there was no answer.  
Ezra gave up, at least on hoping for a reply, and settled into to wait again.

He tried to focus inwards, to meditate. But closing his eyes made him feel dizzy. Ezra opened his eyes and tried to recirculate his meditative breathing through his nose. He needed to keep his mouth shut and conserve his body's hydration, if he wanted to have anything that resembled a tongue left when this all over anyway.

Ezra picked a spot in the dark on the wall, a barely visible dip in the shadow. He squinted and focused hard on the notch. Letting his mind sink inwards and outwards at the same time.

Ezra had never meditated with his eyes open before, but it was so dark here it actually wasn't as hard as he expected. He couldn't manage to find the mental plane of calm and harmony that he usually found with Kanan by his side- but he did find clarity, awareness.

His mind was suddenly more awake and Ezra realised his exhaustion and dehydration had deadened his senses.

The walls, they were no longer humming. The ship had landed.

* * *

 **R &R** for more chapters and buy the crew of out Vizargo's debts.


	4. Chapter 4

An: More updates becasue wow you guys have really steped up your review game!  
I hope you all know how great it makes me feel to know your enjoying something I put together, but if you think i can improve in some way- please tell me.  
All this updating is due to UnfathomableFandoms betaing. Go give her stuff a look.

This Chapter is dedicated to Trashfriends.  
You are all very special to me.

 **Survival Trial**  
Chapter 4

* * *

It had been at least an hour or so since the ship had landed. Ezra estimated he was at least a day ahead of his crew now- judging by how his stomach rumbled unhappily under his ribs- but knowing his crew, they wouldn't stay far behind for long.

If he shifted his weight, pins and needles would stab into his joints, traveling up and down his arms until they went numb again. His tongue was dry, sticking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Ezra swallowed thickly; it felt like he'd been chewing on cotton.

The perpetual darkness was starting to take its toll on his mind. He was starting to see a faint blurr of white or orange in the corner of his vision.

 _No, wait_ , he thought. _That's real._

A soft light wiggled and slowly faded into existence down the far left side of the tunnel. It was two guards this time, one holding the torch and the other attending to the other captives. They were moving along the line. Now Ezra could hear a loud click- it echoed down the line. There was a faint groan- followed by a hard metallic tap of the guard's baton. Ezra felt the vibration run down the long bar his shackles were looped around with a painful jolt to his joints. There was no more noise from any of the other slaves. A clink of chain again, a shuffle of cloth.

 _They're moving us_ , Ezra realized. Anticipation began to bubble in his gut.

It took several minutes before the guards reached Ezra. The spurred man's face was heavily shadowed by the torch light, casting dark lines around the wrinkles in his high brow. His ear' flicked irritably. He didn't bother making eye contact, he looked annoyed. As they'd done with all the others, they clamped two heavy metal rings around Ezra's ankles and secured the shackles to the long chain that ran along the floor.

The added weight pulled at Ezra's bound wrists, and he took in a sharp suck of air and pushed through the last agonizing seconds hanging from his arms.

Finally the guard stood, his eyes bypassing Ezra's face entirely and reached up to unlock the wrist cuffs.  
Ezra held his breath, and then there was a click and his right arm was freed. His feet found the floor, and he just managed to stay upright on dead legs. His ribs burned, and the ache in his shoulders increased five fold now that the strain was gone. Ezra tried to drop his arm, but the muscles had seized and locked his numb limb in place. His left wrist was unclasped, and immediately re-shackled to his right.  
Ezra slowly forced his arms below his ears, wincing as his sore muscles protested.

The relief of solid ground under his feet came close to balancing the pain, and Ezra almost wanted to thank the guard- _almost._

The large guards continued down the line, leaving Ezra standing in single file against the wall.  
He used the time to to roll his neck, lifting and dropping his shoulders and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Slowly working the pin pricks and some of the ache out of his body.

He almost had most of the feeling back in his pickling limbs, when a loud metallic clang rang up the narrow hallway.  
"Get moving ya filthy poodoo!"

Ezra heard the chain scrape across the rough floor far down the other end in the dark, and the sound of shifting cloth and feet.  
Ezra was ready for it. But he was still surprised when the chain connected to his ankles suddenly pulled off, and he shuffled forward to catch his balance, falling into step.

They were marched through the darkness in single file formation. Ezra wondered how the front of the chain found their way in the inky darkness of the ship. The only sounds were the chink of the chain dragging rhythmically across the floor and the occasional echoed shouts from the guards.

The light began to brighten a little as they rounded a sharp corner and Ezra could see the shapes of other shuffling beings ahead of him.  
They were marched through a wide set of doors, and then Ezra found himself in the hatch entrance of the ship. The light was piercing, and he squinted, trying to see past the burning whiteness.

It felt like a lifetime since he'd snuck up this ramp, unaware of what was aboard. But he had no time to dwell, as the the chain pulled forward by the chain gang and into the light.

The chain gang was filed down the cargo ramp and into a large stone corridor lit with bright fluorescent filaments in the ceiling. The rough floor began to tilt under their chained feet and Ezra wondered if they were headed underground.

Ezra took a moment now as they were marched through the dim tunnel to study the other slaves. They were all human, or humanoid at the very least. There was only a handful of women, and even less children. The men were all middle aged or older and built with thick arms and barrel chests. They were farmers, or plantation workers judging by the dirt smears on their hands and knees. There were also Twi'leks, Ithorians, and a dozen other species he couldn't name.

Ezra was frowned, thinking a skinny boy in an orange jumpsuit surely stood out in this line up, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

Now Ezra scrutinized the Slavers. He didn't recognize the species, but they were humanoid. They had almost... _feline_ features, with pointed ears similar to Zeb's and angular cheekbones. Many sported beards.

The corridor opened up to windowless duracrete pavilion. The walls were lined with more guards with spurs on their jaws, and at the far end there were a series of tunnels. The center of the room was filled with rows of more slaves.

Ezra was momentarily taken aback, by the sheer number of slaves and species that he stopped walking in shock.  
He was pushed forward by the large man behind him, just as the chain yanked him forwards by the ankles.

He went down onto his knees, but almost the moment his elbows touched the dirt there was an almighty crack beside his ear and a wave of crackling hot air.

Ezra flinched away, and looked up to see the same guard that had unclamped his wrists, bearing down on him and brandishing a thick electowhip.  
The weapon fizzled and crackled a violent bright yellow, almost hurting his eyes in the dim. The whip fizzled inches from his face, taunting him with bright light and the searing heat, not dissimilar to a lightsaber.

The guard bellowed something short and angry in his gargling tongue, and while Ezra couldn't understand the words, he understood the disgusted, angry turn to the guard's mouth.

Ezra quickly picked himself off the dusty ground and stumbled back into formation, eyes front.

There was a murmur of laughter from the guards along the walls, but otherwise the wide room was eerily quiet.

The line up was marched through the stocks, until they reached an empty row. The long ankle chains were removed but their hands remained bound.  
As soon as the guards moved away, many of the slaves in his row sank down onto their rumps and knees with a faint sigh of relief.

Ezra hesitated, and then, slowly, sank down to the floor and sat down for the first time in twenty four hours.

* * *

They'd been waiting for at least an hour now, and Ezra was struggling to fight off sleep. His eyes wanted to slip closed, even though he was far from relaxed.

His legs had gone numb underneath him again, and the cuffs were chafing his wrists through his suit sleeves.

He was trying to meditate, but each time he managed to sink into rhythm and clear his mind- an electric whip would crack, or a guard would shout- jolting him from his reprieve. The air was too thick with sweat and body odor to calm him anyway.

His head was beginning to ache.  
They'd circulated water skins, and Ezra had drunk as much as he dared before passing it on, but his mouth was already dry again.  
Instead, he tried to focus on the cuffs.

His fingertips could just reach the locking mechanisms on his wrists- but without a pick or at least something to activate the pistons, he wasn't getting anywhere fast. There was a set of picks hidden inside his suit, but there was no way he could reach them while the guards patrolled the rows. They would be here in an instant to whip him back into place, literally. Or they would find out he stole the Holocron, or recognize him and ship him off to an Imperial prison.

He wasn't going to use the Force to unlock them- he'd promised Kanan.

 _As soon as they take the shackles off,_ _I'm_ _gone_. He thought. He could find his way into the vent system, and from that point, it would be a matter of choosing which direction to run. He'd find the market transports and slowly make his way back to Lothal doing odd jobs to pay his way.

That was, if the _Ghost_ crew didn't catch up with him first, which was the ideal scenario. They could buy him off, and the crew would make a nice and tidy get away for once.

Assuming that they found him before he was forced to make a run for it on his own.

Ezra heaved a heavy sigh, and cracked his neck to the side, alleviating some of the pressure in his joints.

The unsettled peace was broken by a guard cupping his large hands around his mouth. "Look alive." he bellowed in gruff basic. "Clerks coming through!"

The slaves on either side of Ezra suddenly climbed to their feet, arms bound out in front of them and heads down.

Ezra followed suit, making sure to keep his head down but glancing around, searching for movement. The caverns was filled with quiet subdued shuffling, and then returned to silence.

He noticed two Twi'lek girls being lead away down one of the darkened hallways, and looked away when his thoughts turned to Hera.

A humanoid alien appeared at the end his row. He was the same species as the ones who'd captured Ezra, only he was built much thinner in the shoulders and face. His tunic was a muted deep blue and trimmed in gold. And he carried an ornate datapad, marking notes as he began to stride down the row. He was flanked by two guards, one which Ezra recognized as the one who'd cuffed him and threatened him with a whipping. The guard flexed his wide fingers alongside his belt as he walked a careful pace behind the clerk.

Ezra eyed them carefully, both disgusted and intrigued to see how their business was conducted.

They were slolwly making their way along the rows, and every so often the clerk would indicate one of the Slaves. The guards pinched several by their biceps, and pulled a handful of them out of the line. The chosen few were all men with thick necks and hard frowns, and many were plucked from the same chain Ezra had been brought in with.

When they reached Ezra's spot in line, he turned his face down and hunched. But he was bypassed completely, and he was fine with that. But the men standing on either side were pulled out of place, and added to the growing line. His row was starting to look a lot emptier now, only a few of the men remained standing. Ezra glanced sideways and noticed his neighbors were now a thin woman in a raggedy tunic and a girl with her brown hair tied in lots of skinny braids. Neither one glanced to Ezra and his attention was pulled back to the clerk.

The clerk made a few final checks on his datapad and the gestured to the second guard on his left. Then turned away, unfazed.

"Plantationers, move out." commanded the guard, his voice gravely.  
Ezra glanced down the line and recognized the man standing beside the clerk and talking in low gruff voices, it was Boots.

The lump on his temple gave a hard throb and Ezra grit his teeth.  
He turned his body, and watched out the corner of his eye as the Slavers began marching the chosen men away. Boots turned on his heel and followed, but the Clerk did not. Instead he paced along the stocks, eyeing off the slaves and glancing at his datapad.

On their next rotation, the guards began to separate the women.

Ezra felt his stomach sink into his boots, watching carefully as three more Twi'lek girls, a Zeltron and a handful of other humanoid species Ezra didn't know were added to the formation. They were all young, and quiet, and didn't say a word. Even as the guards pinched their arms and yanked them out of line, their heads remained bowed and passive.

The clerk the his entourage circled around again and passed Ezra's place in the stocks without batting an eye, and a small piece of him was a little relieved.

And then the clerk stopped and turned, facing not Ezra, but the slave woman alongside him.

The woman's face was hagged, and sun-spotted, and there were streaks of grey in her hair. She was easily one of the eldest women here. Now that Ezra looked, he could see tear tracks in the dirt on her face, but under the soot, her eyes were a bright green. She visibly flinched when the clerk stopped short and Ezra was surprised, because it was the most reaction he'd seen from any of these broken people.

He wondered how long she'd been a slave.

The clerk put out a hand and took the woman by the chin, lifting up her face and and turning it from side to side as he inspected her closely. The woman was trembling, but quiet. The clerk had a thoughtful look on his face- and then tutted, pushing her roughly back into her place in the stocks.

"Too old for worth." he remarked airily over his shoulder. The guard laughed.

Ezra let out a breath he'd been holding as quietly as he could. At least she was spared.

And then the clerk's attention was drawn down to the girl.

She'd pressed herself hard against the stocks, her head bowed and her shoulders pulled up to her chin. Her braids hanging loose, curtaining her face.

The clerk clicked his fingers and the guards moved in, taking the girl by the arm and pulling her forward.

Ezra was _sure_ he heard a sharp agonized cry from the mother- but she'd said nothing. Her green eyes flashed with defensive anger.

The girl didn't struggle, she looked like she was paralyzed with fear. Her eyes were wide, the same bright green as her mother's.

She was brought forward before the clerk and his sharp hand shot out, pinching the girls chin and lifting her face up. His face twisted up in deep scrutiny.

"How old are you?" The clerk demanded, his basic was a clean and practiced purr.

The girl didn't answer, blinking in fear and confusion- It was obvious, she didn't understand basic. If Ezra had to guess, she was twelve, or thirteen at most.

The clerk smiled, the guard chuckled. The girl visibly flinched at the sound of laughter, and tried to withdraw her chin. But the guard held on firmly to either arm, and the clerk tilted her jaw back further. "Would you like to try your fair at the pleasure houses, waif?"

The mother began to make mewing muffled noises, her eyes wide and panicked. It sounded as if she was pleading with the guards, trying to put the attention back on herself, but they paid her no attention.

Anger bloomed in Ezra's chest, and he grit his teeth.

He knew about pleasure houses, but back on Lothal; they were few and far between. The few girls he knew to lead the life, had chosen to. It was by no means a glamorous life, but in many ways the girls and women he'd met were proud of their jobs and took lengthy measures to protect both themselves and their clientele. Even the Empire recognized them as a legitimate business- and gladly charged triple the tax.  
But without question their first rules were that their workers wanted to be there, and that children were never employed.

Ezra knew the standards on other planets were not as strict or enforced, and that many systems the workers were not given a choice, like the ones on Lothal were.

He knew about these things, but he'd never had to face it. Much like slavery, he was learning a lot about the Galaxy on this detour.

The guards were laughing, and the cold sound cut through him, pulling on memories of Troopers back on the streets of Lothal. Pushing him on from the safety and warmth of a covered doorway, laughing him into the rain. Troopers didn't care if you were cold or hungry, and Slavers didn't care if you were a person.

Ezra closed his eyes, trying to pretend he hadn't seen the girl's green ones fill with tears.

He had to be patient, he had to be quiet and wait for Kanan...

While she would be taken from her mother and sent to work in a brothel, and no one here would do a thing to stop it-

Ezra sucked after hard breath, and the angry shout tumbled out before he could stop them.

"Hey- leave her alone! She's just a kid!" his words echoed in the wide hall, and all eyes turned to stare.

The cavern's atmosphere immediately changed from pressing silence to one of fear and apprehension.

The guard dropped one of the girl's arms almost the moment Ezra got the first word out, turning so sharply that his boots scuffed on the rough floor. His hand was already on his belt, ready to brandish his whip, but the clerk shot out a hand and stayed the guard, his mouth was set in a loose unimpressed smirk.

"You must still be fresh." said the clerk, his tone implied amusement, like a lothcat that had found a grasshen chick. Ezra bit his tongue, clenching his hands into fists and fighting the heat that bloomed in his chest. Ignoring the warning prickle the Force sent him through his spine, he stayed quiet.

The clerk's smile waned a little, and he took a wide step away from the girl, and towards Ezra. The gaurd released the girl. Ans she tore away, burying her face in her mother's arms, hugging her as best she could in the cuffs. A small part of Ezra was relieved, but the guard stepped in the way, blocking them from view.

"Stand up, boy" ordered the clerk.  
Ezra hesitated, weighing his non-options, before slowly climbing to his feet. His fingers twitched on his cuffs. He could open them in a flash. He _knew_ he could.

The clerk came forward and circled Ezra once, his eyes scanning the boy up and down.

"Are you volunteering? Big blues and a baby face like yours would fetch a decent price for the right buyers."

Ezra scowled, forgetting his frightened cover. His spine was shivering, telling him he was nearing trouble. But he pushed the feeling away, squaring his feet and his jaw. He was _already_ in trouble.

"I know you're a kriffin Slaver, but at least that's _business_." Ezra shot back, his voice sharp and not at all quiet. "Putting kids through the red-light slums sounds like personal preference to me." he sucked on his teeth and tutted. "Even the Imps frown on touching _kids_ , y'know."

The words pulled a murmur of distaste from the crowd, and now some the guards were shifting on their feet, shooting furtive looks at one another. Even many of the slaves had lifted their eyes, both in surprise, fear and some were even eying the clerk in varying degrees of disgust.

The clerk's face bloomed red briefly, then he regained his composure and shot a narrow look _through_ Ezra.

"Perhaps the work houses," he grit out, "would be a better _fit_ for a slave, so _new_ to his position."

Anger filled him. Ezra snorted heavily, in outrage and disgust.  
"I'm _not_ your slave."

Now it was the clerks turn to snort, airily and amused. He lifted the datapad and gestured the cuffs at Ezra's wrists. "You are the one in manacles, child. Tell me, where did they catch you? Your basic is quite solid, if you had a better attitude you could be of use in the mines as a runner-"

The clerk's voice droned on but Ezra's attention had slipped away.

He noted suddenly, that many of the guards numbers had dropped, having left to escort the chosen slaves. The rotation had put a large gap in the forces along the wall. Counting the clerk and the one standing behind him, they were down a good third of their original number.

There were more guards along down the far end, but they were all circling the other of the stocks- if Ezra was fast enough, he _might_ just make it into the tunnels before they could catch him.  
He didn't know what lay down those dark corridors, but Ezra was willing to bet there was a vent shift somewhere in this place. The air needed to circulate somehow.

"Are you listening boy?" the clerk snapped sharply, and Ezra pulled his attention back to the thin man.

"Not really." he replied snarkily.

If the clerk's face had been angry before, it was fury now. He turned to the Guard beside him and pointed at claw at Ezra. "It is time someone took this slaves insolent tongue."

The guard pulled back his arm, and the electowhip came alive, arching through the air. Ezra could almost feel the collective gasp from the slaves.

It was going to be now or never.

The whip was brought down, and Ezra only avoided the crackling snap by rolling to his left. As he hit the ground, he briefly closed his eyes and squeezed his hands tight- and _concentrated._  
His cuffs fell open, and Ezra left them in the dust as he rolled onto his feet.

The clerk's voice was outrage. "You little-"

The guard had pulled the whip back again, ready to strike. But Ezra dove for the guard, ducked under the whip, barreling into the man with his shoulder and driving his elbow deep into his gut.

Ezra didn't have the weight to put behind a move like that to truly wind the guard, but he had speed and surprise. The guard bent at the waist and Ezra took the opportunity to dive between the guard's splayed boots, pulled his feet in and then kicked the man hard right where the sun didn't shine.

The guard let ou a breathless, strangled moan and went down on his knees. Ezra was already on his feet, and running. The clerk's eyes widened as he realized Ezra was headed straight for him. But instead of planting his feet, he cowered and flinched out of the boy's way. He looked almost insulted and betrayed that anyone would actually stand against his tyranny.

Ezra didn't quash the jerky laugh he felt burst out of him at the sight, and pushed his feet forward.  
He could hear the shouting, short angry sounds and the static crackle of a chorus of electro whips.

He kept moving, ignoring the gaping faces he passed and focused on the end of the row.  
He was only ten feet away when two guards slid into view and started in his direction, whips and batons raised high.

Ezra kept his momentum, and as he pulled up only a whip's reach from the guards, he veered to the right and dove under the stocks between two shocked Twi'lek men. He rolled out into the next aisle and was back on his feet before the guards realised where he'd disappeared to.

He broke free of the stocks and risked a glance to either end. There was a pile of guards catching up, and the two fools one row over had realised he was only just behind him.

Ezra pushed off again and plowed ahead, his legs pumping under him. The adrenaline had chased away any pain from his bruises, his brain still throbbed but now it was a was a pulse that kept him moving.

He tried to ignore the looks the other slaves sent him, some egging him on, some fearful. His gut lurched. His hero's instinct- something the _Ghost_ Crew had left behind, told him to release them using the Force, but he knew in the back of his mind they wouldn't run. They would slow him down, and they'd all be be caught. He couldn't help them here, but maybe he could from the outside.

He kept running.

The corridor was feet away, and he almost let himself feel a little self congratulations for having gotten this far in the first place.

That was when his spine gave a hard shudder, and the tall menacing form of Boots loomed out of the shadows in the hallway.

Ezra fumbled, trying to backtrack or change direction all while keeping momentum.

Instead he tripped on his own feet, and went down hard, rolling in the dust.

The room spun and Ezra looked up from his dusty hands right up into the angry, ugly face of Boots.

Boots smiled grimly and lifted his heel. Ezra knew it was coming, but the shoe still hurt as much as the gun butt had being thrust into his head.

He wasn't knocked out this time, but he was certainly knocked out of conscious thought.

He was dimly aware of rough hands clamping cuffs around his wrists again, much tighter than before. The metal bit in to the inflamed skin where he had been cuffed for hours. _So...close,_ his thoughts slurred in his mind.

He was shoved hard to his knees, and his arms were pulled ahead- almost out of their sockets. It felt like two knives were being twisted into his shoulder blades. He was dragged, his feet scraping in the dirt and he was hauled between two huge guards back along the rows.  
 _They're making an example outta me_ , Ezra thought dimly.

He blinked hard, trying to see straight and past the throbbing pain in his skull.

The slaves all looked down, refusing to meet his eyes.

Then he was pulled past two faces he knew.

He craned his head back and glanced over his shoulder.

The girl was pulled against her mother, her head buried into her chest and the woman's arms were looped, tightly around her despite their bonds.

Both of them met his eye and while their faces were sad, their bright green eyes were filled with gratitude.

It was the same look the people of Tarkintown would wear when the crew brought them food.  
Ezra felt a bubble of pride in his chest before he was roughly shaken forward, and the warm feeling popped.

"Alright move on, eyes fount!" shouted a guard, trying to quiet the unsettled slaves.

Boots was leading the procession and while Ezra's mind was still reeling, he still had the wherewithal to take note of where they were taking him.

Though he had little hope of escape now, he held out that his actions would not send him too far off course that the _Ghost_ crew couldn't find him.  
Like _death,_ for instance.

He wondered mildly, if the idiots had discovered the loss of their cargo yet.

If they hadn't, he might still survive long enough for the crew to arrive.  
If they had, well, he'd decided there wasn't much point in worrying about it.

He hoped he hadn't cost his promise to the Crew.

He was dragged to the opposite end of the hall and then the guards took a sharp left down a thin passage way he hadn't noticed buried in the corner.

This hall was lit with orange lanterns that hung from the ceiling, and they hurt Ezra's eyes after being in the dim for so long.

All at once the guards pulled up and the footsteps ceased.

Ezra squinted blearily at the steelum door and Boots punched in a code to a security key Ezra couldn't see.

The hatch flew open and the guards lifted Ezra by his aching arms and the back of his suit- and threw him into the room.

Ezra landed hard on a surprisingly solid surface. It was the floor was paved with polished dark green stone. He looked up, and saw the captain from the ship, standing with his back to them and his claws folded behind him.

Ezra had half a moment's time to glance around the expensive room, a jarring sight after a day in the dark and dust, before a large foot crushed the side of his head into the floor.

Boot's angry barking began almost immediately and he twisted the heel of his foot into Ezra cheek in emphasis. Ezra tried not to let the pain show, squeezing his eyes tight and listening for tones and lilts in his voice. If only he knew what the brute was saying, he might have a chance to talk his way around again.

When Boot's rant had come to an end, there was a long drop of silence. Ezra could feel his heart thudding against the cold floor in his chest. He sucked I'm a thin breath through his nose and boots growled low in his throat, increasing chest pressure on Ezra skull till he thought Boots might crush his foot right through to the floor.

"Enough."

The words cut through the buildup in Boot's voice and the large heel on the side of his crown pulled back just enough to let the circulation rush through his brain. His head throbbed and Ezra swallowed hard, trying to see the captain.

His narrow face was pinched in tight disapproval, and he was watching Ezra carefully with thin eyes.

"You," he said, starting slow. "have caused us quite a bit of trouble for a runaway."

Ezra swallow again. He didn't like the edge in the captain's voice when he said ' _runaway_ '.

"New slaves like yourself would be put through conditioning. Until you learned your place. Slaves that do not know their place will be whipped in the stocks for insubordination."

The captain turned and Ezra struggled to keep his eyes on the floor and his face straight.

"I've been watching you, and you are, _no_ runaway, are you boy?"

Ezra lifted his head off the floor, and met the stone eyes evenly.

The jig was up, but that didn't mean he had to stop playing the game.  
Ezra shrugged lazily and gave the captain a thin smile. It was hard with the smelly boot still inches from his face, but he managed a facade of cocky assurance.

"I've been known to make a quick escape here and there."  
Pain exploded across his back and he was pushed back into the cold floor, Boots was growling furiously in his ears and pressing his heel hard across his shoulders.

"Stop."

Boots shot upright, dragging Ezra with him by the back of his suit and he was forced to sit back on his knees. Judging by the gaping, furious expression he wore, Boots wanted to disobey the order. However, the second in command hesitated, looking to the Captain to continue.

"I have a special auction house in mind for our stowaway."

A special auction? Ezra clenched his teeth tight. The public whipping was sounding better by the minute. The work houses would be a cinch. Was this the sort of auction the girls had been sent to? He severely hoped not.

"Take the boy to the proprietor's section." the captain said in a bored sort of tone.  
Ezra was certain he was only speaking basic to be sure the boy understood everything that was being said. _Who_ were the proprietors?

Boots ripped him off the floor, and without so much as a glance backward- Ezra was shoved into the orange lit hallway once again.

He was shunted through a maze-work of dimly lit corridors. _What was with the lack of lighting_? He wondered, didn't the guards have trouble navigating this place? It struck him that this was the point, that had he perhaps made it into the tunnels- he would have been lost in minutes. He tried to count the corners and turns they made, but he was soon lost, just as they intended.

Boots kept kicking his calves and stepping on the back of his ankles, bullying him forwards with sharp jabs of the blaster barrel in his ribs.  
Their footsteps echoed in the quiet and Ezra was hard put deciding if he had been better off in the stocks where he was at least ignored.  
No, he would ahve probably tried something else foolish and ended up here anyway. _At least I'm consistant_ , he mused.

They reached a narrow corridor and suddenly, Boots jerked him backwards with a hard tug on his jumpsuit- shoving him through a doorway and onto his knees.

Ezra turned, but a door rose up, preventing him from retreating and cutting off what little light he had.

Ezra shuffled onto his feet, regaining his balance in the shackles and waited. Everything was pitch darkness now. He tried to move forwards, but he felt a cold smooth wall on all sides- he was trapped in a room only a few feet wide. But he was alone, and this was enough to give him hope. Maybe now he would have a moment to rest and plan his next move. How would he get message to the Crew? Would they find him here, deep in the slavers' labyrinths?

Of course they would. Ezra shook his head, and then stopped when his brain sloshed painfully against the sides of his skull. He wished he could lie down. He missed laying down in the grasslands and watching the clouds go by.

Just as his eyes began to adjust to the dark, a bright yellow filimant suddenly flared above, him with a cheap, constant hum. He squeezed his eyes shut but the sharp light was already giving him an even worse headache. He blinked rapidly through the pain and resisted shutting his eyes.  
So he wasn't as alone as he'd hoped.

Now Ezra could see he stood inside a glass walled cylinder. His reflection was mirrored back at him, warped, yellowed and hagged. He put his bound hands up to the glass to shade his eyes and he peered through the distorted image.

Outside the glass he could make out several shadowy outlines of people and different species spaced out, lounging throughout the room. Faces and details were obscured by plated holoscreens presented in front of them and the heavy haze of smoke clouding the air.

As he squinted, the floor began to hum and Ezra looked down in panic and saw the circular panel he stood on was beginning to spin, turning Ezra around at a slow pace.

Slow realization hit him as the faceless shadows rotated around him.

This was the _special auction,_ the Captain was talking about. And here Ezra was- on display.

Ezra felt the hot fire burning inside his chest again. He was not an item on sale in the Imperial shop section. He wasn't for sale, dammit.

Ezra stepped off the spinning panel and tried to balance on the gap of unmoving floor between the center panel and the back wall.

He lent his weight backwards and scowled viciously through the glass. If it weren't for the shackles around his wrists and ankles, he would've folded his arms to really sell the image. _I am not some broken slave_ , he thought. Who would want a troublesome skinny kid who refuses to work? No one, he hoped.

The screens around him were all blue and they cast an eerie glow through the smokey room beyond the glass. Yet not enough that Ezra could count how many bidders were out there and identify any faces or species.  
He could see data filtering across the screens, inverted and blurred from his position. But Ezra was sure he caught a glimpse of a credit number. Eight hundred credits.

He felt his gut flip and instantly knew something was wrong. Who would pay Eight hundred _anything_ for him? The numbers were changing again, and Ezra was confused to see the numbers were _climbing._

Was it at all possible the Crew were out there, buying him out of this hole? Why else would the price be so high? What was he being purchased for at _these_ rates? Nothing good, that was certain.

He scanned the room of shadows, trying to see through his own reflection into the hazy room beyond. He saw no outlines that would identify Kanan, Hera or possibly Zeb, no bright colors of Sabine.

The holoscreens all flickered at once and Ezra squinted, barley making out a thin box had appeared on the displays and he managed to make out the words 'final sale'

The light above him shut off, plunging him into darkness again and leaving him blinking the glare away. Ezra was suddenly aware the crown of his head was hot from the bright filaments and it made the rest of him feel cold that sunk into his bones.

He had been sold.

The wall he was leaning against pulled up and Ezra had to fumble against the doorway to stay standing.

He looked down into the dark narrow hallways, and then back behind him into the blue shadows beyond the glass.

He had little to no choice. So while it gut him to do it, Ezra turned and forced his jelly legs to move back into the hallway, towards uncertainty.

* * *

 **R &R** for more chapters and for Ezra to stop trying to save the day


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I'm sick at home atm, so you all get an early update.  
Keep up the amazing reviews guys! They are the wind beneath my wings.I wonder if anyone saw the buyer reveal coming. are the characters still sitting well with everyone, or have they gone a little rogue?

 **Survival Trials**

Chapter 5

* * *

Boots was not waiting for him like he expected, but there was only one direction to go from here. Still, he scrutinized the ceilings and the corners of each wall to make sure he hadn't missed an exit point. He hadn't.  
Ezra took his time, but he still reached the end of the corridor far quicker then he'd liked.

He'd barley shuffled into the dim light when a bag was shoved over his head. Ezra tried to fight, mostly in surprise at the ambush, but two strong hands took a hold of his arms and began dragging him along.

Ezra went limp after a few feet, letting his heels scrape across the duracrete floor. He was tired, and he needed to have the shackles removed before he could even consider escape again. He didn't dare pull the force trick again- not now there were more eyes on him.  
Let them carry him- he was weary of walking in chains. His head hurt and he was still trying to understand how everything had gone so wrong.

He should have listened to Kanan.

He was dragged down an echoing hallway and Ezra watched as the dim orange light filtering through the sack became a yellow glow. He could hear voices now, faint and fading in an out as he was dragged past, what he figured, were open rooms along the hallway. They weren't the husky voices of his captors. They were new voices, with varying accents and lilts and all conversing in pleasant polite tones. The voices of people with money, no doubt.

All at once he was jerked upright, pulled to his feet and made to stand on his own.

He felt hands travel down his legs to his feet and heard the jingle of keys.

Ezra's heart began to flutter as the weights came off his ankles and the keys moved up to his wrists. _This was it._ He would cooperate with who ever had purchased him, and the very first opportunity he had to get away: he would take it, no more waiting.

Something was off here and every fibre of his being told him he couldn't afford to wait for his rescue. He knew it was coming, but his instincts told him he might not be here to receive it. He needed to make a break for it and hope the crew would catch up to him.

Ezra flexed his toes in his boots, preparing to spring into action as soon as he knew which way he was going to run. The shackles dropped from his wrists and Ezra felt the weight fall away with a sigh. His arms felt light and ached with release.

But in the same movement, something cold and weighty was closed around neck and settled against his collar bone. A shiver of warning ran up his spine.

 _What-_ Ezra thoughts were interrupted as the sack was pulled off his head in one clean motion and light flooded his eyes. He was lifted off his feet and thrown through an open doorway. Ezra landed hard on his knees and groaned as his head throbbed under the single bright spotlight overhead.

He heard the guards step into the room, and the hatch pulled shut behind them and the door seal pressurised.

Ezra sat up, as quickly as he dared, and looked around.  
The room was larger then he expected, and carved into plain earthen walls. Where they still underground?

A single hover chair was in the centre of the room with its back to Ezra. A green Twi'lek girl was knelt beside it, her face bowed low. She made no movement to look at Ezra, but he heard her whisper in a soft voice.

"Your new purchase has arrived, Mister Azmorigan."

Ezra, who had been studying the ceiling, looking for a vent, a duct- _anything_ , swung around, eyes wide in surprise.  
"Azmorigan?!" His gut clenched in panic.

The hover chair pulled around, carting the red skinned crime lord.

"Yes! It is I." Azmorigan said in an pompous nasal voice, waving his short arms out and gesturing to himself. He grinned his crooked block teeth, and Ezra thought he seemed pleased he had recognised him. The boy winced, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He shifted backwards, pulling away from the wobbling jowls, as the chair and Azmorigan drew nearer.

"And you-" Azmorigan continued coming in close, and pressing one pointed finger into Ezra's chest. "Are a member of the _infernal_ Ghost crew. Or _were_ as the fact may be. Now," he leaned back in his seat and grinned smugly, laying his hand against his fat chest, "You belong, to me."

The words weren't what filled him with anger, it was the smile.

"I don't belong to anyone, you second-rate Hutt!" Ezra shouted, he shot forwards, hands outstretched. If he could get his arm around the fat man's neck, maybe he could pull his blaster-

But his thoughts never came to fruition.  
Ezra had been electrocuted before. The occasional overloaded circuit charge wasn't something to worry about, as long as he learnt from his mistake.

So Ezra recognised the sharp pain that suddenly clenched every muscle he had and pulled his feet out from under him- but the voltage was higher then anything he'd ever experienced before. He flopped, boneless, gritting his teeth and grunting as the electricity coursed through his body.

When the spaseming had stopped, Ezra blinked as he lifted his throbbing head off the floor with a groan. He unglued his teeth and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His body felt overwrought, prickling and twitching involuntarily. Did he smell, burning?

"Brilliant things aren't they?" Azmorigan asked, sounding almost bored and fascinated at the same time. The hover chair had retreated back to the wall, and Azmorigan was sitting contentedly on the edge of his seat with a broad grin under his snout. He put his sharp little hand out to the side, grouping the empty air, and the servant Twi'lek girl appeared from behind the chair.

She brought a bowl of cracknuts up to the grasping hand. He didn't even turn to look at her, instead just began shovelling handfuls of nuts into his mouth faster then he could chew.

"They operate on their own frequency and put you completely at the whim of others, see?"

Ezra seethed, injustice filled his heart and he lashed out, voice cracking."You won't get away with-"

Azmorigan simply held up a small black remote in his other hand and flicked a key.

Ezra felt his fingers retract tightly into fists, as another short buzz of electricity blew down his spine again. His teeth bit down on his tongue and he tasted blood. He squirmed on the floor, arching his back painfully, and grunting. But this charge was shorter lived then the first.

After a few moments, the seizing stopped, but the short stabbing prickles continued to run all over his skin.

Ezra looked up, blinking blearily a the angry red blob, his chins swinging. He tried to piece his thoughts back together, but all he could hear was the blood pumping in his brain and the sound of Azmorigan's lips smacking together.

Chew, smack, gobble, "Pack quite a punch, don't they?" gulp, swallow.

Ezra swallowed on his dry, bloody, mouth and slowly pulled himself onto his knees.

Now wasn't the time to be running his mouth off. He needed to be smart. He needed to play the game.

Ezra took a deep, dry, breath and looked the crime lord flat in the eye. "Why did you buy _Me,_ Mister Azmorigan _Sir_." he demanded thickly.

Azmorigan's smug look grew suddenly pleased, and a little fanatic. His hand was suddenly still in the bowl of nuts. He leant forward in his seat and a several crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spat, eyes wide.

"Because your crew humiliated me! Because your twi'lek captain stole what belonged to me and insulted my honour!" It did not escape Ezra's notice that the servant girl flinched at the mention of Hera.

Azmorigan settled back in his seat, trying to compose himself. "I couldn't believe my luck when you appeared at the auction. It took me a few moments to recognise you- you are much..." He waved a hand trying to pick his words. " _Dirtier,_ then I remembered." he barked, laughing at his own joke.

Ezra frowned, and bowed his head. At least the old engine oil was still thick and crusty on his cheek. It had probably saved him from anyone calling in the imps, _yet.  
Imps or Azmorigan- _it was a tough choice who he preferred right now.

The crime lord grinned and his words turned cold again.  
"I bought _you,_ boy, because I have plans for you."

Ezra do not like the sound of that.

"Tell me," Azmorigan continued, narrowing his eyes and pinching on chin in thought. "Where is your crew now?"

Ezra swallowed hard and returned the hard look. Did the chubby crime lord wish to random him back? To use him as leverage against Hera?

"They're not far." he said, hoping he wasn't lying.

Azmorigan snorted and grinned. "If you are here, they are further away then you think, boy."

"Take me to Vizargo." Ezra said quickly, brushing away Azmorigan words. "He'll buy me for twice what you paid. Three times, if you ask nicely."

Ezra doubted this very much, but any chance of getting closer to Vizargo was a step closer to Lothal and the Ghost crew. Maybe he could outsmart Azmorigan and escape, like Hera had once. If not, making to the broken horn would be preferable. Vizargo would also want another favour, but Ezra would gladly take that price for now. Another day alive now, was worth risking one down the track. Anything to get this awful collar off.

But Azmorigan snorted and waggled a fat dismissive finger in Ezra's direction.

"No, I am not interested in dealing with Vizargo or credits."

Ezra was confused.

"Then what did you buy me for?" he demanded. If Azmorigan didn't want random, what _did_ he want?

Azmorigan smirked, his fat face wobbling with every small change, his brows pulled back over yellow eyes that glitter with malice, and his voice filled with pride, like he thought he was incredibly clever.  
"To give you away."

Ezra blinked, and then snorted rancorously through his nose. "What? Are there no nice fruit baskets on this rock, so you thought a teenage boy would do just Fine? I didn't know you were so _generous_ Azmorigan."

Azmorigan's contented look was immediately wiped away and spittle flew as he shouted.  
"You will pay for that pathetic excuse for a crew's mistakes, boy! You had no idea who you were dealing with last time we met. And now _You_ will pay for your captains mistakes- Because I," He sat upright in his chair, his chest puffed out proudly.  
"I have bought you and supplied you as a candidate in the next _Survivalist Trial!"_

He finished his booming threat with a flourishing wave of his hands, like confetti or fireworks might spring into the air above him. He looked expectantly down his snout on Ezra, with a narrow, proud, jut of his soft chins.

Ezra blinked and tilted his head to one side. "The surra-what?" He demanded, confused beyond measure now.

Azmorigan deflated, looking crestfallen his words had clearly not had the effect he expected. He opened his mouth, and it looked like he might explain further, but he struggled to find the right words. "The trial- it- Oh _never mind_! I shouldn't be expected to explain to someone as pathetic as you."

Azmorigan fell back against his hover chair with a groan. He gave a dismissive, weary, wave of one hand, while the other resumed shovelling nuts into his maw. "Bring in the Trainer and take him away. We are done here."

"Wait- Azmorigan," Ezra began sensing his last chance for escape falling away from him. "We can discuss this. Surely there's something you want-" he broke off in a cry a something sharp was pressed against his neck. He jerked away, and turned to see a brutish humanoid man, in a blue uniform, holding an empty hyposyringe.

He gaped, holding his hands against tender spot on his neck. Everything began to fizzle.

"The only thing I want boy," Azmorigan answered calmly, "is payback.'

The guards gathered up by his arms again, and Ezra was surprised that he was glad- because his legs were a prickling mass of jelly now and he wasn't sure he would able to stand, let alone run.

"And I'm sure to get it. I hope your precious crew keeps a watchful eye on the holonet."

"Azmorigan..." Ezra muttered numbly, trying to turn his gaze back on the red wobbling mass. Azmorigan was starting to ...blur around the edges. He mouth wouldn't keep up. "They'll... they'll find me. And you..."

Azmorigan's laugh was warped. "Pah! Your crew, boy, is probably miles away by now, boy. And soon- there wont be anything left of you to find. There's nothing to trace what will become of you, back to me."

Ezra felt the floor slip out from under him, and he thought maybe he'd been thrown over someone shoulder. The gravity in the room was shifting.  
Azmorigan's laughter echoed in his ears and Ezra fell away from consciousness, again.

* * *

Ezra groaned as he came too.

He was quickly getting sick of being knocked unconscious, with drugs and boots. His head still throbbed, only now on both sides.

His throat was sore and dry, and he put a hand up to sooth the ache. But instead his hands found metal.

 _Oh right, the collar,_ he thought, trying to force his eyes open.

He was slumped across on a metal bench, in what looked like the back transport vehicle. The walls were humming faintly.  
Across from him, on his own fold out seat, sat the brutish humanoid man who'd given him the knock out drug.

He had dark skin, a wiry brush of whiskers on his upper lip, and bright yellow eyes. His dark blue uniform look like it was straining at the seams over his thick arms and broad chest.

He was staring at Ezra with a blank expression. Seeing the boy open his eyes, he reached behind him and pulled out a water skin and silently held it out.

Ezra swallowed, and pushed himself upright. He eyed the water-skin being offered, and frowned. Did he think Ezra was an idiot? Tch, unlikely.

The man snorted in faint amusement, and threw the skin into his lap. Ezra caught it with two hands.

"Drink it kid. It ain't poison." His voice was a baritone, and rumbled from deep in his chest with a serious, exotic lit. "S'my job to keep you alive. For now." He added the last part with a grin, showing t'bac stained teeth.

Ezra looked at the water skin, rolling his dry gritty tongue around his mouth. He uncapped the skin and drank, draining it dry. It tasted clean.

He sighed in satisfaction, closing his eyes and revelling in the water trickling through his chest. He was still thirty, but the haze in his head was already starting to clear.

Another weight was thrown into his lap and Ezra fumbled to catch this one. It was a solid roll of cloth.  
It unfurled at he held it up. It was a pale grey jumpsuit made of something stiff and uncomfortable.

He looked to the dark man in confusion; who was no longer smiling. He looked bored.

"Take off your things." he told him.

Ezra blanched, tightening his holding the suit. _Oh force, please no._

"No way!" Ezra snapped, drawing himself up.

The man blinked, and then slowly got to his feet. At his full height, the tips of his black hair brushed the ceiling.  
He reached down and unsheathed a long vibroknife strapped to his thigh.

Ezra swallowed and lead back in his seat.

"Look kid," the man stated, picking at the dirt under his nails with the tip of the knife. "You don't seem to recognize the situation your in. So I'll make it plain. You," he pointed the sharp blade at the centre of Ezra's chest, "Are the property of people who'll have no problems, if I deliver you, minus a few fingers."

Ezra quickly made fists of his hands and the man huffed in amusement.

"Trust me, when I tell you, you'll be better off starting with all your thumbs where your going."

Ezra looked down at the grey jumpsuit, running a thumb over the collar. He liked to keep all his thumbs and fingers.

"So," the man continued, gruff and short. "You will get undressed- or _I_ will undress you and I wont be so gentle. Pick one."

There was a moment of deliberation, and Ezra met his yellow glare evenly.  
The dark man didn't even blink, and showed no indication of turning around. The vibroknife clutched casually in his wide hands.

Ezra let out a long breath, and stood up on his unsteady feet.

He picked the most painless option and quickly began to undress.

He kicked off his boots, feeling the cold metal floor under his feet. He stared down at his toes, shifting his weight awkwardly.

"Today, kid" the man growled, turning the knife just so, and the light caught on the tip.

Ezra huffed and turned around, unsure how to begin. He barely undressed in front of Zeb, let alone strangers.

The flight suit came off first, rattling with all his misbegotten misalliance. It was snatched from his hands before the could consider trying to hide anything away in the new suit. He stripped off his gloves, and the shirt and shorts he wore underneath, and handed them over without looking up. He felt a little bit of his cocky attitude peel away with each item, and soon he was left cold and shivering. Unsteady as he tried to climb into the grey suit as quickly as possible.

The new suit had no boots, gloves or even under-things. And Ezra felt rightly naked even with the zipper pulled up to his chin. But at least he had all his fingers.

He sat down heavily on the bench and folded his arms. "What now?" he demanded snarkily, only half wanting an answer.

The man, sank back down onto the bench and pressed a button on the com on his belt.  
Ezra watched, confused, as he rolled the orange flight suit rolled up around the boots and gloves into a tight bundle.

"What are-"

A panel in the wall opened and the man tossed the bundle of possessions into the chute before Ezra could finish the thought. He gaped, hand outstretched- but he knew his things were gone.

The man's expression was flat and he pulled out a data pad. "You all organic, Kid?" he demanded dull tone.

Ezra looked between the man, and the panel in the wall as it pulled closed. "I- What?"

"Organic. All your original parts. No augmentations, no cyborg bits." the man repeated, slower like he thought Ezra was thick. "We gotta scan you. Make sure you're not bringing in any... advantages. Makes it easier on yourself if your honest now."

Ezra grimaced. "What kind of advantages?"

The dark man stared are him every, and his voice was dead-panned, completely serious. "The kind that will get you a cavity search."

Ezra's grimace deepened. He did Not want a cavity search.  
"No. I'm organic. You can scan me- I won't make any trouble."

The man nodded and leant back in his seat. "That's good. That's what I like to hear. An attitude like that will get you fed. Making my job harder, will only make it harder on yourself. You got that?"

Ezra narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore his stomach's loud whine at the mention of food. "What _is_ your job exactly?"

The guard looked down his broad nose and snorted a hot stream of air. His tone turned serious. "I am a Trainer. You will address me as Sir, or Trainer. Me- and all the others where your going. We make sure you know where your place is and ensure you get a decent shot. You listen, and do as your asked, you'll get your chance. You got that?"

Ezra swallowed hard and turned his eyes down to his shoes and nodded. "Yes- Sir." he added quickly, glancing up at the Trainer.

The Trainer answered with a gruff nod, turning back to his notes. "Now- you know how to use a knife?"

Ezra shook his head, confused.

"A club? Any weapon?" the trainer pressed. "Anything you tell me now might be to your benefit later on, Kid. So if you've got a fighting skill, you should say so."

"I can shoot." Ezra answered tentatively, twisting his mouth in distaste. So they wanted him to know how to fight, was it? That didn't fill him with hope exactly. He wasn't sure just how much he should admit to the man, though he obvious has no intention of mentioning any force usage.

The trainer shook his head. "Usually only one, if any, blasters in each round. They make it too quick, to easy. You can't rely on finding a pistol. You any good at hand to hand?"

Ezra shook his head again and the Trainer huffed irritably and made notes on his data-pad. After a moment of silence, Ezra swallowed, and spoke up.

"I can... use a sword, somewhat." He offered lightly, unsure. The transition from light-blade to metal was obviously a big one- but anything was better then nothing, right? At least he had some form training.

The Trainer looked bemused. "Not many swordsmen nowadays, but if your lucky you might find a long blade in the pit."

"The pit?"

The trainer ignored the question. "You know how to live in the wilds? Know how to find food, water- all that?"

Now it was Ezra's turn to look bemused. "No. Never needed too. I..." he frowned suddenly, thinking of his time on the streets. They wanted survival skills did they? Well he had those in spades. "I can hide." he said firmly, "I can run, and I'm quiet. I can make things and forage. I'll do what I have to do."

The trainer nodded, firmer this time, and after making a few quick marks on the pad, he lifted his yellow eyes to Ezra's.

"That's good. That's what they wanna see."

"They', sir?" Ezra pushed, trying to keep his tone civil.

The Trainer frowned, his bristly moustache pulling down at the corners.

"I'll be plain with you kid, coz you won't be any use if your just standing around with you jaw loose. You've pulled the short straw, and right now, you're headed for one of two places."

Ezra swallowed, leaning forward in his seat, wrapping his arms around his tumbling stomach. "Sir?"

"You'll either be chosen for the final call, or they'll send you to the Gutters for parts."

Ezra felt the bottom drop away from his middle and the fear must have shown on his face, because the Trainer nodded. "Good to see your not as slow as you look kid. Tomorrow morning, your to go in for the pickin'. The makers wanna see how all the candidates mix together. So do whatever you need to to draw attention to yourself - without getting yourself killed. Alright?"

Ezra felt the words washing over him, but he couldn't quite process what he was being told.

"Look, either path, you'll probably end up, cutting through, in a hole." the Trainer continued, "But, at least if you make the call, you'll get yer chance."  
He adjusted his sleeve, revealing a gold chronometer on his right wrist. The light caught the face and Ezra saw it was near mid morning. But of which day? The trainer tutted briskly, as if they were running late.

Ezra swallowed hard, trying to steady his trembling hands. "A chance at what, Sir?"

The Trainer's eye narrowed and his wiry lip flattened out. "At surviving, Kid."

Ezra wanted to ask more, he wanted to ask _why_ , and _how_ , and _why_ again.

But the walls choose that moment to shudder and jolted, rocking them in their seats. The man stood, gathering his data-pad under one arm and moved towards the door, where the hatch door hissed and opened out.

"Remember kid," he said shortly over his shoulder, "If you wanna survive, give them a good show. I suggest you get some sleep."

Before Ezra could answer, he turned and disappeared around the doorway. Ezra sat, too blown away by the sequence of events to move.

Two more guards, both humanoid and wearing blue, stepped into sight. One waved him forward. _More Trainers,_ Ezra thought, noting the iron batons hanging from their belts. Ezra stood, and fell into step behind them, at a loss at what else to do.

These Trainers did not seem as willing to talk as the first one had, but Ezra marched along, studying the grey walls. It was odd how the decor did not look all that far from an Imperial base- but the feel of it- the air here didn't carry the same weight.

"What is this place, Sir?" Ezra asked clearly, make sure not to forget the agreeable tone.

A guard behind him sneered and nudged him in the small of the back with the baton.  
"The best place for entertainment this side of the outer rim carve up, kid."

"The outer rim carve up?" Ezra repeated, his gut making a hard twist of fear.

He remembered his brief stint involved with the underground fight system, it functioned just under the Empires radar. He thought about the fights on Lothal, brutal and bloody, even the fixed ones.  
If this was the next best thing- what chance of survival did he stand in a fight like that?

There was no big bounty hunter here now to clean up this mess. What good would calling attention to himself do here?

He wanted to ask more questions, but the baton was pressing into the small of his back again, and he was so tired. His head hurt.  
It had been the longest day of his life.

They reached a corridor of wide steelum doors. All were closed but the one closest, and the Trainer behind him put a hand on his shoulder and shoved Ezra through the doorway, and into a box.

Or, at least it felt like a box.

One trainer snorted to his partner, nudging him jovially in the elbow. "Another one for the blaster fodder."

Ezra turned, insulted more by the Trainers tone then his confusing words, but the door sealed shut with a pressurising hiss.  
Ezra straightened, and turned on the spot, scrutinising each blank wall.

Ezra was loath to admit it, but even an Imperial cell had more creature comforts then this box did, and a lot more space.

This cell was a steelum closet, windowless and cold and barley five feet in either direction. A single white light filament was set high up into the wall. The brightness hurt Ezra's eyes for several minutes before he grew accustomed.

The door was a solid wall with no gaps, hinges, or visible locking mechanisms. There was lifting panel with a little ledge a little lower then eye level, that Ezra assumed they would feed him though- or at least he hoped they would. His stomach groaned unhappily again.

It was small, and cramped and he was alone. There was a steelum wall and a bolt locked door between him and everyone else, and he wasn't on his way to the Gutters. Yet.

Since the moment he'd jettisoned his com and his lightsaber, and said his goodbyes to the crew- Ezra felt the most safe he had in days. Though he knew it was barely a passing feeling, he let himself relax and sat down, letting out a long sigh. His muscles unwound and his eyes began to close.

There wasn't much he could do for now. He'd worry in the morning when he could focus on one thought for more then a few seconds at a time. His head was still swimming and his empty gut ached. The cold wall and floor was almost soothing on his aching muscles.

Ezra settled into to wait.

* * *

 **R &R** for more chapters and to kick the Ghost crew's butt into gear- like srsly, catch up guys.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Hi All. Sorry for the delay. I slowed down my writing progress and my poor beta's laptop has decided to fall apart- so please be patient. I have lots of this written still, but I don't trust it to be posted without her touch. So be chill, and you will be rewarded.

 _Thankyou_ to all my lovely reviewers! I value every word you type and I will do my best not to let you all down 3

 **Survival Trials**

Chapter 6

* * *

The Ghost Crew arrived in the Ore system in only fifteen hours- Hera had made sure of it.

Ore had once been a mining planet, but it had long been drained of any value even before the Empire's reign, and much of the local populace had moved interstellar- so there was veritably no competing space traffic, and even less Imperial presence to worry about.

The fourth moon was a small planetoid, orbiting several notable miles further out than its brothers and currently sitting in the darkness of Ore's shadow for the next six weeks.

It made for the ideal temporary location for the Invisible Market.

The Ghost crew were prepared, calm, and focused. They hadn't wasted a moment since entering hyperspace.  
Kanan and Hera had gone over every inch of the plan, Zeb and Chopper had stocked the weapons and prepared the turrets, and Sabine had busied herself fashioning a handful of miracles with a hint more explosive power then usual.  
It was better than stressing over the vacant space of their youngest crew member. They were all feeling the unbalance on the ship.

They _would_ get him back, and in one piece.

Hera docked the _Ghost_ along the outer edge _,_ eyeing the rusted pirate's ships set down on either side, and went to join the crew in the passenger area.

Chopper immediately took over control of the console. Hera had near hard-wired the plan into his circuits. He would be staying with the ship, monitoring the com channel. Ready to take off, or man the turrets at a moments notice.

Hera double checked her blasters, Zeb slung his Bo-Rifle over his shoulder and Sabine strapped a fourth round of power cells to her belt.

They did not want this to come to an all out blaster battle with an entire market's worth of some of the most ruthless scum of the galaxy, but _damned_ if they weren't prepared to either **.**

Only Kanan was still. His lightsaber and single blaster on his side. He sat on the edge of the booth, leaning his forehead on folded hands and his elbows on his knees, eye closed.

He was looking for Ezra.

Searching in the blackness for a flicker of light.

He did not want to voice his concerns that he hadn't sensed the boy's movement yet. That would give no one hope. But he was certain, with every fibre of his being, he was _certain_ that his Padawan was alive.

He knew it, like he knew the Force was with him. Like he knew the Force was with Ezra, since the moment that stubborn kid had power jumped the blaster crate onto the _Ghost_ ramp.

 _Is this how Erza felt when I was taken by the Empire?,_ The Jedi wondered. _No small wonder he pushed Hera to do something as foolish as infiltrating an Imperial Starship._

Kanan knew, without question, no starship would keep him from Ezra. No slavers or pierate would either. Nothing would stand between him and his Padawan.

"Kanan?"

He looked up. The crew were standing at attention, ready and waiting. Hera lay a hand on his shoulder, and he took it and held it as he came to his feet. They traded a firm gentle squeeze and nodded at one another.

She'd told him sometime ago, how Ezra had been the one to push them into the foolish, fanatical rescue plan. Like a Anooba with a bone; he wouldn't let it go, and he refused to let her drop it either. She'd been so proud, and so grateful. Nearly as much as Kanan.

Now, if anything, her eyes were two green lipid pools of decision. Ezra was her family.

"Okay," Kanan said, dropping her hand and looking over his crew. Leading the way towards the cargo hatch, "Let's go find what's ours."

* * *

When the hatch lowered onto the back of dock 34, the _Ghost_ crew were immediately hit by the smell.

It was a fetid odor, made from cured meats, unfiltered sewer water and other butchered unmentionables left for the worms. It was sweat pouring off unwashed bodies in closed spaces. It was the scent of great depression and rot, and it was _foul_ to say the least.

After the initial shock, the crew adjusted, and walked out onto the docking bridge, and the Ghost sealed shut behind them.

The market was spread out in the open pavilion of what appeared to be an abandoned decrepit hanger. Everywhere around them was a mixture of species and sound, and if weren't for the immediate sense of unease that was hanging almost visibly in the air, the crew might have believed it was any other market.

"Come on." Kanan said, watching the assorted riff-raff that were slowly appearing around the crew, eyeing off their weapons and belts. Kanan's hand ghosted over his lightsaber. "Let's find that droid."

They found it easily enough. It was the same blue and white model R2 droid they had once returned to Senator Organa. He was sitting beside one of the crumbling pavilion walls, looking like a shiny blue diamond sitting in the trash.

Zeb was about to ask why no had made off with the droid yet, when two large humanoids approached, guffawing with laughter and knocking each other in the arm . Kanan had just reached for his blaster when the droid, sounding almost bored, let out a dull whistle of warning.

 _I wouldn't try it, if I were you._

The men laughed and reached out to touch the droid- they were both immediately thrown to the ground by an electric charge.  
The droid gave another whistle and chuffed, this time in amusement.

When the men had stopped spasming, they crawled to their unsteady feet and bolted for the nearest alleyway.

"Hello old friend." Sabine said, walking straight up and waving to the astromech with a friendly smile.

The droid let out a happy whistle and a series of chirps in greeting. Something clicked and the crew had the suspicion the droid had deactivated whatever electronic weapon he'd been given.

He rolled forward to Kanan's feet and buzzed as he ejected a thin credit transfer card. The Jedi took it and held it tightly in is palm.  
"Thank you," he said and bowed his head. "Please pass on our gratitude to your Master."

The droid hummed and whistled in the affirmative, and after another series of daunting re-weaponising clicks, began to make his way straight through the packed pavilion, while the crowd seemed to be doing their best to leap out of the way.

Kanan pocketed the credit card and looked around the market. He spied a Gotal watching him nearby, who quickly looked away. Kanan marched straight up to man.

"Where is the Zygerrian slave market?" he demanded firmly.

The humanoid avoided his eyes, but pointed a crooked finger straight down the nearest stall line.

Kanan didn't bother to thank him, he wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. The crew got moving.

The market buzzed, a low humm of constant noise, some shouting, and some hissing in low furtive tones. There was a clear lacking of humans here, but every other species in the galaxy was present. A Besalisk stomped through their path, knocking shoulders with a Feeorin, who immediately started to brawl.

Kanan urged the crew along, pushing through the colourful crowd with a thunderous expression. The stall holders gave them a weary eye as they shot through, and Kanan noticed while they ghosted over Zeb, Sabine and himself, they settled uncomfortably long on Hera. He drew her close to his side and leaned to whisper in her ear.

"Give me your blaster."

She jerked away, and glared, "What? No!" She put a hand up to push him away, but he tightened his hold around her waist and held her firmly against him, mindful that they were being watched.  
"You don't fit in here," he whispered curtly, keeping his face firm, "Not while you're _armed._ "

"So you'd like me to _protect_ myself by giving _you_ my weapons?" she demanded, eyes flashing.  
Kanan pulled her to a halt at a break in the crowd, and Sabine and Zeb stopped with them.

He put a hand on each of her shoulders and looked her firmly in the eye. "I know how this must make you feel, and you know I hate to ask it- but we need-" he stopped, his words to thick for his throat for a moment. Hera lifted her chin, her eyes flashing and daring him to continue.

Kanan took a shallow breath, "We need you to you _act_ like a slave. Our slave. Or we might not even get close enough to even _try_ getting Ezra back."

He knew the last line was a low blow. Asking her to put Ezra's needs above her own- it was her nature. She would have done it for any of them. And this was for _Ezra._ It wasn't even a choice.

He watched the anger slowly fade out of her eyes and be replaced with something dimmer, defeat. But the fire quickly flared again, and her lips pursed. She would compromise, for _now._

Hera swiftly unstrapped her holster, still carrying her blasters and handed them both, not to Kanan, but Sabine.

Sabine took them without a word and strapped them to her own leg, along with her own. Standing up straight, she looked more like a weaponised soldier then a girl at this point.

"Okay then, _M_ _aster."_ Hera hissed acidly, waving him forward with a curt bow of her head. "Lead the way."

Kanan sighed, wiping a hand over his face and trying to stave of the migraine. _Not now_ , he thought. He could collapse when Ezra was safely back on the ship and they were a hyper jump away from this cesspit. For now, he needed to focus.

Kanan straightened his spine and began to lead them again, weaving through the filthy crowds without a glance backwards.

The first thing that changed was the noise level. It was quieter at this end of of the markets, vendors didn't shout their wares and each customer moved furtively between the stalls, heads turned down or eyes glancing about.

The stalls began to spread out a little, and alleyways of new vendors could be seen down the gaps. Kanan strode forward, breaking through the crowd with a firm and stony expression.

All at once, the stalls ended and there was no question if the crew had found the slavers.

People were lined up, mostly Twi'leks, Zeltrons, and humans all penned together near the entrance of a dark corridor. The doorway and the pens were all guarded by tall thick Zygerrians in leather armor. Their ears twitched and their faces were stony as they absently watched the passing crowd.

A grey skinned Roadian pushed past the crew, pulling two Twi'lek girls by a chain leashed to collars around their necks. He spied Hera standing closely behind Kanan with a mask of frigid discontent across her face. He nodded to Kanan in approval of shared taste, and Kanan did not return the gesture, only increasing his frown into a cold glare. The Roadian sensed unwelcome, and scampered away, trailing the Twi'lek girls behind him

Kanan turned back and watched the crowd meandering in and out the entrance, for a few moments, studying each guard's face carefully.

He spied one standing at the edge of the pens, who looked a little thicker around the middle then the others, and a little wider in the face. He was snorting quietly to himself in amusement, as he prodded a male Twi'lek slave in the back of the calf with a baton- forcing him to stand at the very length of his shackles.

Kanan drew in a short sharp breath and moved in.

He took a wide path around the entrance and through the crowd, approaching the heavy set Zygerrian with purpose and the crew fell into step at his back.

The guard turned and noticed them approaching and a flash of confusion crossed his face- followed by caution. Kanan was quick to casually pull his arm back, showing the heavy credit pouch on his belt, and the guard visibly relaxed.

Kanan stepped right up to the man and looked down his nose with no nonsense eyes.

"I'm looking for a human boy. A runaway." Kanan started, giving the guard no time to interrupt. "Blue eyes, dark hair, tan skin. Slim build, about fifteen. Do you have any information on his whereabouts?"

The slaver sneered and looked Kanan up and down, a little crinkled at the corner of his eyes in mirth.

"If your tastes are that exclusive, you need to order them from the pleasure house."

A crooked grin split his face, amused at his own joke and he wheezed out a laugh. Kanan bit down hard on his tongue, holding back the angry words building in his chest. The very _idea_ thickened his blood.

There was a tense moment where no one answered the slaver. Sabine made fists at her sides, avoiding the handles of her blasters, and Kanan felt Hera tense at his back. Zeb snorted a long stream of hot air, followed by a soft grumble from deep in his chest.

The slaver's grin died on his face, sensing something was amiss.

"Adlark. Why are you slacking?"

A well dressed Zygerrian peeled away from the main entrance, his face set in a hard unforgiving scowl. The Ghost crew noted the coiled whip strapped to his belt, and Sabine tensed, recognising the captain of the ship.

"These- uh, these people, wanted to ask some questions." the guard replied hurriedly, standing to attention.

The well dressed slaver eyed the Ghost crew. "What _sort_ of questions?" The captain demanded airily.

"Looking for some runaway kid. Blue eyes and dark skin. Fifteen or about-

The slaver captain turned to the crew and signalled for silence in the guard same movement.  
"We do not deal in _stolen_ merchandise. All our stock are sourced from reputable farms and sellers. I suggest you look elsewhere for your _Runaway_." he said shortly, his clipped tone suggested they should leave.

Kanan eyed the lead slaver's claws, resting close to the elctrowhip coiled on his belt, and he smiled very slightly, and took one step forwards.  
"I apologise for any misconduct, on my behalf." he gestured behind him to Zeb who took the cue to roll his massive shoulders, twitching his snout into a scowl.

"We are bounty hunters on official business. I'm looking for a boy who has run away from an Imperial academy. It is suspected he stowed away on a Zygerrian cargo ship leaving Orusso not two days ago. So it might be possible he has been accidentally placed with your stock. His family have quite a lot of money and a, _prominent_ , Imperial image . They would appreciate this case being handled with _discretion_."

The Zygerrian inclined his head, just so and took in Zeb and Sabine standing at Kanan's back, then his eye fell on Hera. She bowed her head and Kanan stepped into the Slavers eye-line.

"As you can clearly see, I support the slave system and I wish to cause no trouble for you, or your business. I only want the boy and I am willing to pay your price, so if you have any information-"

"We do not _deal_ with bounty hunters." The man said sharply, distaste thick in his voice. His dark eyes narrowed, "however, I can appreciate your position. If I recall correctly, there _was_ a human boy matching that description in the stock line only a few hours ago. If I am correct, he was purchased along with several other bodies by a plantation owner from the Cere region. Perhaps if you are willing to pay him for his trouble, he will turn the boy over to you. I'm afraid it is unlikely his ship will still be in dock, so it is likely you will not meet up with him here."

Kanan swallowed his panic, and nodded once and then clasping his hands together in front of him, bowing his head very slightly. "Thank you. I appreciate your candour."

"Your thanks is accepted. Now please move along. My clientele do not appreciate badgering, and my workers are busy."

The Zygerrian captain continued to stand there with a hard frown, eyeing them and making it clear their business was done. Kanan turned without another word and the crew fell in step behind him.

The crew moved straight back into the bustling market, disappearing from the Zygerrians' sights and striding straight through the crowd with a purpose. Cut throats and vendors all moved aside to let them pass.

They were three or four blocks deep before Kanan made a sudden turn down an empty alleyway and spun to face the crew.

"Whoever bought Ezra, it was certainly _not_ a plantationer from Cere." he spat and Hera lay a hand on his arm.

"You're sure he wasn't there any more?" she asked in a soft tone. Kanan pursed his lips, and shook his head, internally cursing himself. He should have known the absence of Ezra;s Force Signature meant trouble. Now they had wasted their time and he could be lightyears away.

Zeb let out a deep rumble in his throat. "So Cere is out. Great. Now what about the _rest_ of the galaxy?"

Sabine took a deep breath to steady her rapid heartbeat. "We should follow Vizago's advice, and look for Ezra's things."

Kanan frowned but nodded dutifully. "I'm loathe to separate in this cesspit, but we could certainly cover more ground. And we don't have a lot of time."

Hera put a hand out and latched onto Zeb's arm. "We'll go scout the north side, you and Sabine search south. Keep your coms active."

They nodded as one and the group of four separated into pairs without hesitation.

Hera and Zeb moved through the stalls, waving off the more insistent vendors and doing their best to keep their firm composure.

At one point, a Ugnite vendor shoved a tray, laden with a mixture of cybernetic and _organic_ eyes under Zeb's nose.

"I have many pieces." he said in accented broken basic. He held up a bright blue eye, preserved in glass, "Very fresh!"

It was only Hera's calm, tight, hold on his arm that stayed the Lasat's fury. The vendor was still roughly pushed aside with a threatening growl, but he was left without any broken bones.

Neither Hera or Zeb would discuss the possibility that their youngest Spectre had been sent to the Gutters, the black market body augmentation dealers that usually sourced their _fresher_ wears from the unlucky and unsuspecting.

 _Wasn't the right kind of blue anyway,_ Zeb told himself firmly. At least, he hoped so.

They moved on, eyeing each stall for a hint of something that had belonged to Ezra, but having no luck. There were simply too many bodies here, too many dark spaces and stalls that appeared one minute and were gone the next.

Zeb and Hera reconnected with Kanan and Sabine on their second lap, who'd had no more success than they had, even with the aid of the Force.

They agreed to circulate once more, as a group this time, hoping to catch a whif of Ezra's trail.

Vendors were beginning to pack away their stalls and a rush of urgency hit the crew full in the chest. The market was due to move on soon. What if the stalls were emptied before they found something? What if they found nothing? They began to walk double-time, completing a third loop of the market.

They passed a narrow back alley boarded with crumbling rubble and dotted with small rickety stalls. Kanan suddenly stopped mid-step and turned to the right- Sabine saw it a second after him and they both turned down the market alley without so much as a word. Zeb and Hera followed behind.

An old orange flight suit, that had seen better days, was folded up on a stall table. The table itself looked like a fallen wall panel laid over two empty fuel cannisters. It was laden with all assortments of random pieces and gadgets and trash. Some familiar, some not. Sabine spied a set of lock-picks that she knew, and the brown vest with a recognisable white print pattern, a little towards the back.

The stall holder was a Ranat, and when he spied Kanan he waved a hand towards a pair of very old model blasters in considerable condition. "It doesn't cost to look." said the stall holder.

Kanan didn't waste a moment. "Does it cost to talk?" he asked calmly, holding up the leather credits pouch.

The Ranat's face turned from conciliatory, to angry. "I am no rat!" he spat loudly, and probably for the benefit of anyone listening.

There was a gap in the conversation and Ezra's absence was immediately felt by everyone expecting to hear a sidelong remark ' _uh- actually you are._ '

"I don't need names." Kanan demanded, pushing forwards. He picked up the beaten flight suit and help it out, "I just wanna know where you got this. Nothing else."

The Ranat looked suspicious but drew back a little as he looked Kanan over, and flicking an eye over the crew. Then he leant a little closer  
"How badly you wanna know?"

"As badly as it'll cost me." Kanan answered, leaning in and dumping the whole pouch on the stall. It sat down with a satisfying, heavy clink.

The Ranat looked pleased and straightened his sleeves- and the pouch was gone.

"I picked them up on the rich side." he answered casually, letting his eyes wander and shrugged. "Dumped out by the 22nd docking bay. "

Kanan nodded once at the Ranat, and then he handed the folded dirty suit to Sabine. The mando girl immediately began collecting items off the table surface, the lock-picks, then a ruined pack of sabacc cards, the old worn soldier's boots, the mutitool, the pindrive, the shin guard, the vest-

Zeb pulled a sack out and began to shove everything she handed to him inside.

The Ranat gaped, gesturing widely. "You- You are robbing me!"

"No." Kanan answered firmly and turned to the side, showing off his blaster to the smaller creature. "We're just taking what already belongs to us. Besides, I just paid you."

The Ranat relaxed in defeat with a groan and withdrew back from the makeshift table, scowling over his folded arms.

Once Sabine was certain she'd picked out everything that Ezra had ever touched, she bobbed her helmet to Kanan and Zeb swung the sack over his shoulders.

"Alright. Lets get moving." Kanan commanded. They turned and headed straight toward the docks, a fire in their step.

 _Hold on Ezra._ Sabine thought. _Just wait a little longer._

* * *

 **R &R **For more chapters and more space drama.


	7. Chapter 7

To say thank-you for being so patient, This chapter is _Epically_ long.  
I was going to cut into two simply for aesthetics, but there was no where that worked.  
Let me know how this works or if you have any questions about the species used!  
Now the HungerGames theme really starts to show through, and we get some proper action!  
Please enjoy!

All this is thanks to Unfathomablefandoms. Go read her stuff. Sometimes we collaborate and she has some great ideas!

 **The Survival Trials**

Chapter 7

* * *

Ezra didn't need to wait long. Barely a few hours after taking his seat against the cold wall, and falling into a fitful dreamless sleep, he was jolted awake by a hard metallic thump against the door.

It knocked on the cell across from his, and cell next door, and continued making a racket that echoed all the way down the corridor.

"All candidates rise for inspection." Shouted a voice in clear accented basic. "Get up you lazy sons of Bathas. Up-UP!"

Ezra rose to his feet quickly, stumbling a little on his numb legs.

He stood, shaking the prickly feeling out of his legs. Inspecting him for _what_? Should he play weak? Should be play downtrodden? Should he play dead in hopes that maybe they'd just ditch him whole into the disposal chute and he could escape on a garbage barge?

 _No._

Ezra was done pretending to be weak for now. If they wanted to inspect him, to see what he was made off, then let them.  
They'd probably keep him for parts if he played dead anyway.

He heard footsteps outside in the corridor pacing causally between the rooms. Metal hatches were swung open and closed. Some stayed open for longer, and some were snapped shut as soon as they were lifted.

Ezra followed the footsteps as they moved, until the shuffling was right outside his door .  
He waited, tense and anxious. He struggled to come up with a plan, his head still ached and he drew a blank.  
Then the panel lifted.

The eyes were oddly familiar, but Ezra couldn't place them, other than knowing they were dark and far set, and humanoid; he couldn't see who the Inspector might be.

The pupils dilated, running him up and down. Ezra swallowed down the shiver. He folded his arms across his chest, and stood back on his heels, with his spine straight. Thinking hard thoughts, he grit his teeth and stared back unblinkingly.

This was the stance he took when he was trying to stand off against Zeb, trying to make himself bigger and unmovable.

The familiar posture gave him a bubble of strength, thinking about the purple giant; laughing and roughhousing with him. Pushing him down, tripping him over, punching him in the arm. Chopper ramming into his toes or shoving the electro prod into his knee. Sabine leaning against the doorway and shaking her head with a lopsided remark. Hera, always nearby with a warm smile and a kind or sharp word. And Kanan.

Ezra felt his cheeks tighten, and his chest relax, and while his lips were dry and sore- he smiled. Forgetting where he was for just a moment.

The panel dropped and Ezra was startled by the sudden slap of the metal flap.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, feeling off balance. Then fell back against the wall with a huff, the tension leaving his body.

Was that it? Was he headed for the Gutters now? Barely a few seconds of judgement? Ezra slid slowly down the wall, and retook his position on the floor. He felt like he'd failed some sort of test, one he could never have expected to pass. And now he was going to die, and his promise to the crew would be broken, unless they could get here in time. But what would be waiting for them? A starship worth of trainers to blast through? What if they were hurt trying to save him?  
Ezra pulled his knees to his chest, pressing his forehead into his legs and gritting his teeth to deal with the pressure building in his head. _This was unfair!_

The hatch suddenly let out a hiss and clicked, as what sounded like bolt locks withdrew from the frame. The door groaned a little, and was wrenched fully open. Another blue uniform appeared and waved him forward with a dull glaze in his eyes.

Ezra hesitated, aware that there would be no false feelings of safety outside these walls. He didn't want to be cut apart.

His muscles seized.

"Oie- Come on." the Trainer huffed, "I don't have all day. You stay in there and they'll send you down the body chute- you catch my drift?"

Ezra blinked. If? "Wait- you mean- I'm not going to the gutters?"

The man narrowed his eyes, "You are if you don't get movin'."

Ezra pushed away from the wall with a jolt, nearly stumbling over the bottom of the doorframe on his unsteady feet.

He straightened up quickly, forcing his arms flat at his sides and his hands open. The Trainer half rolled his eyes and moved behind the boy. He lifted his baton, and Ezra half thought that he was about to hit him, but instead the man casually tapped the cold rod against his shoulder, and then prodded him once hard in the back.

"Move it, Fodder."

Ezra tried not to let the scowl he felt cross his features, and began to walk. The word was quickly becoming his least favorite. Even more so than _Urchin._

They marched him along the stainless steelum corridors, making a few sharp turns, until they reached a set of transparisteel doors. The doors lead into a small room a little bigger than his box. Ezra could see another set of doors on the other side. _An elevator?_ , he wondered.

The doors pulled apart and the Trainer stepped aside to wave Ezra through, giving him a final push into the room with the round end of his baton.

Ezra caught his footing, and stood up straight between the two sets of doors. These ones were frosted, but Ezra could faintly make out the shadows of a few shifting figures beyond the clouded surface.  
A larger dark form separated from the rest, and stomped past the door. A wave of unease swept through Ezra, and he lay a hand on his gut, which was suddenly painfully tight and empty at the same time. The back of his neck prickled and Ezra recognized the feeling instantly; _danger._

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing on his centre, like Kanan had taught him. After a moment the anxiety faded to a tender throb.

 _I'm going to be fine_ , Ezra told himself firmly, shifting his shoulders under the itchy jumpsuit. After a moment feeling his stomach slide about like eels in his belly, he snorted; he couldn't even lie to himself. He was so boned.  
His only hope right now was the crew. _Hurry up, guys. Before there isn't anything left of me to rescue!_

Ezra turned around, ignoring the prickling at the back of his neck, and watching the guard key away at data-screen set into the wall.

A bright red light shot out from a bauble in the ceiling, and in one clean sweep, scanned the room. Ezra jumped- but the light had already scanned him and withdrew. A computerized voice said:

 _'No foreign matter found.'_

Nothing happened for several seconds, and then the floor began to hum.

The second set of doors were opened with a hiss and the floor rose up unevenly from behind. Ezra found his feet with a gasp as he was literally tipped through the open doors, which closed behind him with another short whoosh of air.

This room was about as large as the Ghost itself, and built entirely from solid white panels. There were two long viewing windows set high in the walls on opposite ends- but besides the door Ezra had been tipped through- he saw no vents, ducts or other exits.

Inside the room, spread about, was a colourful collection of some of the roughest thugs and hunters Ezra had ever seen.

There was about forty all up, shuffling and gathering in small groups or standing alone. They all turned as one to study the new entry.

Ezra hesitated as every cold eye in the room turned to towards him, a hard shudder of warning ran up his spine and he shivered-

The shudder visibly shook his shoulders, and all at once each scarred, bulbous, scaly, or ugly face snorted dismissively or shook their head as they turned away.

Ezra realised, with a hard suck of shock, that these were the other candidates the Trainers had spoken about. The people he would be fighting against. And that he'd just _trembled_ in fount of all them, like a scared child.

 _So much for making a first impression._ Ezra thought darkly, eyeing the closest thugs and carefully moving along the wall to his right. He stopped when he reached a point where he was an equal distance from the two closest candidates- a Dug crouched furtively in the corner, and a pair of Duros that turned away when he glanced at them.

Ezra shifted his eyes toward the centre of the room, which was filled with a handful of large and brutish species.

Most of them he recognised. Along with the he Dug and the the two Duros, he also saw an Aquaish, a Gotal and a Nikto, standing a short distance away, muttering darkly and shooting surreptitious glances about the room. And an Ithorian was seated backwards at a table, leaning on his skinny elbows and scanning his eyes across the room.

There were a handful of species that Ezra recognised but didn't know the names of, like the large haired beast with two yellowed tusks protruding from his jaw, or the three eyed insectoids who seemed to be looking everywhere at once, twitching constantly.

Some were humanoid at least, but the rest were, for lack of a better or more fitting word, _Alien_ to him. Ezra tried not to gawk at the odd mixture of clawed hands, multiple limbs or shifting colours. There was a man with a capped head and his lower body made of tentacles, who was _floating,_ and talking briskly with a yellow skinned humanoid with horns growing from the tips of his forehead. A fat, toad looking creature had sat himself in the centre of the room, patting his fingers against his chest. And in the far corner was a pale female with long sharp talons extending from her fingers, rapping impatiently against her folded arms.

Ezra pressed his back against the wall, feeling somewhat safe from at least one angle, and studied the rest of the room and trying to keep his jaw shut. At first glance, everyone was bigger than him, which wasn't a surprise.

But then he noticed a Corellian man in the back, who had made himself look smaller by wrapping his arms around himself, and rocking back and forth in the corner. There was another boy, a skinny pale grey Xexto, huddled underneath the window, four of his six limbs hugging his narrow chest.  
 _  
So I'm not the only blaster fodder,_ Ezra thought absently, and then chided himself for letting himself admit he, or anyone else stuck in this sorry place, was or ever ever would be _fodder._

Ezra couldn't pull his eye off the wilted boy, and but the Xexto's eyes stayed flat on the floor. He realised with a jolt that he was standing with his back pressed against the walls too, and Ezra had unconsciously mirrored his body language.  
Ezra quickly stood up straight and lifted his chin, looking up to the windows.

From this angle, he could only see through one, but he figured there probably wasn't much different about the second.  
The transparisteel was tinted, and the long wide light filaments reflected off the clear surface. He couldn't make out much, but he could see vague humanoid shapes, and oddly a figure in white, who stood near the glass, his arms behind his back and his face obscured by the reflection of the ceiling lights.

A hard hacking noise jerked his attention back to the floor, his heart immediately in his throat. But it was only the furred beast with the tusks laughing at something that was said, the sound short and guttural.

Several forms and shapes moved, and Ezra caught a glimpse of blood red skin and a hard bowed spine hunched over a bench at the furthest end of the room. Even slouched, Ezra could see the muscle definition, rippled with scars and battle wounds. He was struck by a wave of cold air, that he thought might've only been in his head, but he rubbed his hands harshly down his arms, feeling goosepimples rising.

Ezra closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed away the urge to throw up.

 _I'm supposed to fight these guys?_ He thought, outraged. These were soldiers, warriors, _hunters._

Ezra was just some Lothrat who knew a few tricks, and he certainly couldn't rely on the Force in here. There wasn't a single trustworthy face here.

 _How can they expect me to fight any of these guys?_ They were all bigger than him, or at least most of them were clearly prepared for whatever was coming. They were all just milling around, talking or sitting aside, like they were stuck in some sort of kriffin waiting room.  
A small voice in the back of his mind answered his question with doubt. _They don't expect you to fight. You're just here to be Blaster Fodder._

 _They expect me to die,_ Ezra realised. The thought numbed him for a just moment, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. Then the hot anger returned. Pushing against his ribs and making his ears burn. He took in a deep suck of air and let it out slowly, trying not to lick his dry lips.  
People had expected less of him before, and he'd proven most of them wrong, right? These _Trainers_ were no different. _I'll show them._

Ezra ground his teeth, leaning his back flat against the wall and swallowing on the acid taste in his mouth. His teeth felt _furry_ , and he was pretty sure he smelled worse than any Lasat by now.

Though he wasn't alone. The whole room was thick with sweat and gritty odour. Those who weren't stuck in bouts of anxiety and depression, looked on edge- muscles tensed and ready to strike the first blow if someone so much as looked at them wrong. He could see sweat beading on the Duros' brows, and the man adjusted the sleeve of his jumpsuit again. _I know that look,_ he thought, eyeing the stiff way the Duros held his arm straight.  
Ezra's eyes drew down and his eyes widened a little as he caught sight of a glint of something white poking out the very tip of the Duro's sleeve.

Ezra could _taste_ the desperation in the air. It nearly hummed with the strain; put a foot wrong and it would snap. And here the fool had gone a smuggled a knife in? Looking to start cutting down the competition sooner than expected, no doubt.

Something Zeb has once said floated into his ears. Something about 'biting the biggest anooba in the pack', establishing _dominance._

Ezra snorted, he didn't have _dominance_ , least of all here.

 _But..._ He frowned down at his cheap strap-on boots, his mind whirring.

Maybe he didn't need to _do_ any biting. Maybe he could just take the other's teeth away. Maybe... maybe he didn't have to fight them-, maybe he could make them fight each other. He could goad them, like he did to Zeb and Chop. Like the thugs in bars, way back when. Misdirection and Distraction, how he'd been fooling Imps for more than half of his life.

Ezra waited, watching from the sides, and filing away notes of who stood where. His mind piecing together a series of events.

 _No,_ he chided internally. _I shouldn't try it. Kanan would want me to stay quiet, and out of trouble. I should have_ listened _to him before._

 _But Kanan isn't the one going to the gutters._

He felt his eyes wander back up to the windows.

There was movement, and Ezra recognized the same Trainer from the transport that had escorted him from Azmorigan's clutches, appear from the back of the room. The other blue uniforms moved back, and he made a beeline for the man in white.  
The man turned his attention away from the room of fighters for the first time, inclining his head as he listened to the Trainer. They spoke for a minute or so, the Trainer brandishing the datapad, while the Man in white nodded and waved a hand dismissively as he answered. The Trainer nodded in an affirmative, and then together, they turned their attention back to the candidates.

Ezra let out a hard breath through his nose, and then froze as he saw the Trainer's yellow eyes focused on him. His hands were crossed in front of him, and two pointed fingers very casually lifted and tapped the gold chronometer on his wrist, twice.

It was only for a moment, and then the narrow gaze was roving across the room, his hands flat at his sides.

 _Am I losing my mind_ , Ezra wondered _or did I really see that?_  
He studied the dark man behind the glass for another moment, but he did not look at Ezra again.

Ezra heart sped up again in his chest as the message hit home. He was running out of time.  
Ezra needed to act, he needed to get their attention, and he had an inkling, the attention of the man in white.

Ezra winced, then wiped his expression clean, and pushed away from the wall. He didn't have long.

His gut was a bubbling mess, it felt like it was tied in fluttering knots. But Ezra pushed his feet forward, and cut a clean path straight the near centre of the room. All eyes turned towards the footsteps, and he could feel the weight of every eyeball and tried to keep his face neutral, suddenly aware of every flutter of the muscles in his jaw. He needed to look calm, he needed to look unafraid.  
Ezra reached a bench and table. His kneecaps tried to lock, but he forced his left leg up and stepped up onto the seat, and then the table.

Ezra squared his feet, locked his legs. Ezra cleared his dry throat, and lifted his jaw, with a firm friendly smile.

"Good Morning," Ezra called out loudly and firmly. "Gentlemen, and ladies." He briefly waved a hand in the direction of the pale woman who narrowed her eyes.

"What's it to ya, womprat?" She hissed, studying him over her claws.

Ezra forced his shoulders up in a casual shrug and, against his better judgement, shut his eyes briefly. "I just thought we should all get acquainted before we try to kill each other."

A murmur of quiet unease flowed through the room, and now he had their attention. He forced down the bile in his throat with a friendly smile.

The Duros with the knife narrowed his red eyes and he spoke with a thick smoky hitch in his voice. "What are you playing at, boy?" He fixed his sleeve again. Ezra grinned, surprised and sardonically pleased the Duros had given him such a easy open.

The boy jumped off the table, pleased when made three of the other competitors jump slightly. He straightened up, shoulders back, and walked with a familiar, fake confidence in his stride.  
He spread his hands in an welcoming, friendly gesture. "Hey, what's wrong with a little friendly banter? I'm Dev. What's your name?"

He stepped forward, ignoring the invisible barrier of personal space and coming close enough that he could smell the Duros' breath. He stuck out a hand and took the Duros' right in his two before he could react.  
He concentrated on pumping the Duro's arm, and with the movement, swiftly slipped the knife out of his sleeve, and up his own; pretending to scratch an itch as he fit it into safely into place. It was smooth, and lighter than he expected, making the transaction even easier.

He had wondered how the Duros had gotten it past the scanner.

Less than a second or two after taking the Duros hand, he released it quickly and stepped back. He spun around, arms out, like he was looking for someone else to introduce himself too.

The Duros' partner had taken a wide step back from the odd display, but now scowled as Ezra drew close.  
Sensing there wasn't time for pleasantries, Ezra slipped between the two and put and around around their shoulders, like they were old friends. "Tell me, who did you two piss off to end up here? Ever heard of a chunk bucket called Azmorigan?"

The second Duros was the first to throw his arms off and the two withdrew, confusion and irritation clear in their eyes.  
"What is your _game,_ runt?"  
Ezra tried to look a little offended, but took the opportunity to put some distance between them, mindful not to move too quickly. "Game? I couldn't say what your on about sir."  
He took a step backward onto the closest bench and sank his rump onto the table. "I'm just trying to make some friends before we all end up down the chutes." He dropped the shrug from his shoulders and the half grin from his face.

The Duros huffed and exchanged amused looks. "We do not have to worry about that." Said one proudly.

"We are _official_ candidates." said the other.

Ezra looked between them, now confused. "Official? So you... didn't come here in a transport from auction?"

The Duro's red eyes went wide and together they let rip a loud and obnoxious laugh. Some of the closest candidates snorted, shoulders shaking.  
Ezra frowned and looked back to the Duros for an explanation.  
The first one smiled thinly, "No, worm. We did not come from an _auction_. We were invited. We put forth our own fees. And we will be the ones to take home the title of _S_ _urvivalist_!"

Ezra tilted his head. "You... _paid_ credits to get in here?"

"Yes." hissed the second Duros, but Ezra could hear the twang of uncertainty in his voice. "What of it, Worm?"

Ezra cocked a skeptical eyebrow, but internally his gut twisted with worry. So these weren't just the unlucky and unloved in here- there were fighters- Trained and skilled and who paid money to risk their lives for a ring fight?  
"You _want_ to be here?" he repeated. "If you paid good money- then why are you here with the fodder like me?

The Duros exchanged a glance with each other and then turned back to the boy.

"They are making the final candidate call." Hissed the first irritably, eyeing Ezra from his ill fitting boots to the top of his messy and unkempt hair with disdain. "Dividing the trash from the... suitable candidates."

The narrow look he gave Ezra was pure supremacy, and it irritated something mutinous inside him.  
He pulled his legs up underneath him on the tabletop, leaning backwards and grinning- the same grin he knew irritated his favorite Lasat.

"I was just thinking, since you paid good cred, and you're clearly so much more prepared than everyone else here, shouldn't you two be up there, where the good seats are?"  
He punctuated his words with a pointed finger and the Duros, and several quiet candidates nearby followed the point to the narrow viewing window set high in the wall.

The figure white was still visible, standing by the transparisteel, his arms folded at his back.

"You know," Ezra continued, lazily waving his hands around and absently gesturing the crowd of quiet onlookers. "Instead of- down here. With the trash."

The insult clearly had the right effect, as several cold glares were shot towards the Duros, who now visibly seethed. Both of them pulled back their shoulders and set their jaws with hard frowns and narrowed their red eyes.  
"Well, all the luck to both of you." Ezra said, shrugging dismissively. "Though, if I were you, I wouldn't want to go into a competition like this," he gestured again to the silent circle and rolled his eyes back to the pair with a clear gaze, "with someone I couldn't trust."

The words had the desired effect, and now the Duros turned their scowls inward, scrutinizing each other briefly, now with true apprehension.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded the second.  
The first took a step closer to Ezra, his hand reaching up his sleeve. "I've had about enough of you-"

His red eyes went wide as his hand ghosting at his sleeve came away empty. His glare became icy, narrowed in fury and his head snapped up.  
"You!" he bellowed, pointing a grey spotted finger at Ezra.

Ezra opened his mouth in shock, laying a hand over his heart in affront.  
"Hey, don't look at me. It was him! He's the one who has your knife! Look!"  
Ezra punctuated his words with a wide swing of his arm and pointed an accusatory finger at the second Duros.

The second Duros seemed to realize what had happened, and his hand immediately felt at the back of his belt where he knew Ezra's fingers had been.  
He pulled back his arm, holding the shiv, just as his partner swung around in time to witness him brandish the blade, with the sharp end pointed conveniently at the chest.

Ezra could now see why the knife had been so light and easy to maneuver in his slippery hands- it wasn't any metal he'd seen before. It was an off white, with a odd knobbly end and the other filled into a sharp point. It was bone, and completely organic. That was how the fools had slipped it through the scanners.  
 _Hoping to take out the_ _competition_ _, no doubt. Smart._

But Ezra was smarter.

"You!" shouted the first, and Ezra watched as the crowd line around the three of them suddenly seemed to expand. Their eyes now no longer unfocused and furtive, but turned with interest. Now that a weapon had appeared, they were eager to watch the scene play out, the only way they knew it would.

"No!" The accused his partner, struggling to find the words. He darted his slitted eyes between them, looking to Ezra with a mixture of shock and revelation. "He- No!"

He got no further, as the first Duro lunged for him, throwing them both to the floor with a loud cry, and knocking into the closest candidates

Ezra immediately slipped over the table, and backed away from the fight. His heart was pounding in his ears and his whole body tingled with apprehension. Any minute now the fools might realize he was the enemy. But for now they were locked in a stalemate, wrestling noisily on the floor, fighting over the shiv.  
The Duros broke apart briefly, climbing to their feet and now squaring off. The second one was still in possession of the knife, and now all his furious focus was on his former partner. _Thank_ _the_ _F_ _orce._

Ezra could feel the tension in the air straining, and much of the crowd now began to cheer and cat call. They pressed inwards, eager to see the fight, the boy who'd started it now mostly forgotten.  
Ezra did his best to avoid touching the bigger bodies rushing past him, but the crowd was quickly forming a mob circle around the Duros, shouting and whooping. He squeezed between their shoulders, struggling to dettach. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, something he hadn't felt since he was seven years old and hiding in the dark room under his parants house.  
But he felt it now, trapped in the throng of enthused maniacs. He broke free of one wave, and was pressed back by another. Through a fleeting gap in the crowd, he caught sight of the two smaller candidates, still pressed against the wall, watching with wide frightened eyes, half-petrified in shock.

Ezra was knocked sideways by the Gotal elbowing past, earning a bruise in the ribs. He  
felt something slippery underfoot, and went crashing down to his knees, and it was only his quick reflexes that saved his hand from be crushed underfoot.

 _I'm going to be crushed in the mob I started,_ He thought bitterly. _How ironic._

He made a quick dash, still on his knees and weaved quickly between the knees and boots.

Space opened up and he pushed to his feet and dashed for the break.

He clipped his boot as he broke free, stumbling and grabbing hold of the nearest table to steady himself.

He caught sight of a flash of scales and claws extending from grey sleeves from the corner of his eye, and his heart jumped. _Could it be?_

"Bossk?" The desperate question dropped from his lips before he could stop it. Loudly.

The Trandoshan spun around, his head turning with neck breaking speed and stood up from his seat. He stood tall, taller than Ezra ever remembered Bossk being, as as he rose up, Ezra's heart sank into his shoes.  
As soon as his maw turned to face the boy, Ezra knew he'd made a grave mistake. This Trandoshan was thicker than Bossk, a little more square around the jaw. His face scales were a faded brown and there was a thick scar running down one eye.

Ezra immediately pushed back from the table.

The Trandoshan hissed and his skinny tongue flicked between his sharp teeth. He took one slow long step closer. The sounds of the mob were growing louder, buzzing in his ears.

"I- I'm sorry sir. My mistake. I thought you were someone I knew." Ezra quickly turned to step away, to put some distance between himself and the mighty lizard. Instead he found himself nose to nose with the Dug, who was examining his face closely. Ezra managed to stop himself from bumping chests with the low squat Dug, but not stumbling.

A heavy weight landed on his shoulder and wrenched him around, and now Ezra found the Trandoshan's teeth at eye-level.

"What did you call me, _little_ meat sack?" The Trandoshan growled, a rumble of displeasure rising out of his chest.

Something in the sound drained all the saliva out of Ezra's mouth, and he struggled to move his thick tongue around an answer. Was the truth worth telling right now? Too late, he couldn't think of a placating lie.

"I- I thought you were someone I knew, Sir."  
The Dug appeared on his right, walking on his hands, circling them. Eyeing the Trandoshan with a wary eye.  
The Trandoshan flicked Ezra hard in the sternum, jerking the boys attention back to him.

The Trandoshan rumbled angrily. "All us lizards look the same to you meat sack?"

Ezra quickly shook his head. "No- No sir. I thought you were a bounty hunter, named Bossk."

The name pulled at the hackles of the lizard's mouth and he snorted hot breath across Ezra's face.

" _Bossk_ is a friend of yours, you say?"

This Trandoshan knew Bossk? Ezra swallowed carefully, making sure to tighten his hold on his bladder, and carefully nodded shortly. "Yes sir."

The Trandoshan let out a deep and unsettling rumble, flicking his tongue. "Well he ain't no friend of mine. _Meat sack_."

"I- didn't say he was my friend exactly." Ezra started, trying to keep his voice smooth, but his throat kept tightening on his words. "More like.. former employeer?"

The Trandoshan growled, wet and rumbling.

Ezra felt the wash for warning coming- but for once, he beat it and immediately ducked out of the lizard's grasp as the claws reached out for him. Ezra turned and dove between the Trandoshan's feet. He lunged for the cover of the table, accidentally kicking the Dug in back of his elbows as he did so, pushing the man into the Nikto beside him and seeding another fight.

Someone shouted angrily, and punched out. Ezra crawled on his elbows and knees, making for the empty space under the tables.

Ezra heard the fight raging on, a rough tumble of cloth, flesh and angry groans. Meaty thumps of fists and boots. But he also heard the roar of reptilian fury and the sound of bodies being thrown aside.

"Gotta Move." he muttered in panic. The bench above him was ripped away. He rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding the bench being smashed down on top of him.  
"Gotta move faster!"

The Trandoshan roared, and Ezra glanced back in time to see the tusked man had thrown the Gotal into the back of the lizard, who spun around and kicked the limp body away. The boy didn't wait to see what happened to either opponent, making a dash for the next line of tables. He dove under the seats and crawled quickly on his elbows across the floor, scampering over the table legs and ducking under the tabletops. He hoped the Trandoshan had lost track of him in the bustle, and lost interest in him.

The mob fight was in full swing now, fists clashing, bodies crashing to the floor. Ezra scuttled between the tables, dodging the wrestling candidates that were now causing havoc through the room. The collar bounced uncomfortably against his neck, and the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood upright. Everything inside of him told him he was in danger, that he had to run. But run _where?_

He put out a hand, and a large boot stepped on his fingers as they bolted past.  
"Karablast!" he swore loudly, and pulled the throbbing hand back into his chest. He needed to get off the ground before he got his teeth kicked in.

A loud crash startled him, and the table next door buckled under the weight of the body thrown into it.

 _No time like the present_ , he thought, his heart between his teeth.  
He crab-walked, awkwardly climbing out from under the low seats- and a vice latched onto his arm, jerking him into the air.

Ezra felt his shoulder socket strain and grit his teeth. He opened his eyes, and found himself suspended in the air, facing the yellow slitted eyes of the Trandoshan.

Ezra felt his heart constrict and he was sure of he had any water to spare, he'd have lost it then and there.

A chill ran through him, and Ezra glanced frantically over the Trandsohan's shoulder in time to see a hulking red form, thick arms lifted high over head-

Again, fate intervened, and a bench was slammed across the Trandoshans shoulders. The bench broke in half, splintering with a crack. Ezra ducked, throwing one arm over his face to avoid the tiny wooden daggers.

The Trandoshan was pushed forwards, but not off his feet. He turned, spinning to face the red skinned opponent.

The vice hold on his arm dropped and Ezra hit the floor on his rump, and scrambled backwards without sense of a direction. Just away. Away from the two biggest threats in this room, who were now about to square off. He couldn't tear his eyes away as he crawled backwards.

The red skinned candidate was clearly male. He was thick, nearly bulging of the of grey jumpsuit that had be stripped of its arms and the chest rolled down to his waist. His skin was the colour of blood and now Ezra could see his bare skin was peppered with roping scars of all shapes and sizes.

Now Ezra saw him fully, he recognized the Massassi. A race he'd only passingly read about on the holonet, a brutal warrior race, and not one he'd had any intrest to learn more about. Something he regretted now.

The Massassi's eyes were cold and yellow, and focused entirely on the Trandoshan.

The Trandoshan was smaller, but not by much, and his arms had a longer reach. The claws on each finger flexed and the lizard hissed through his teeth.

Just as the Trandoshan took a step forwards, the lights dropped out, replaced with flashing red and sirens blaring in the ceiling and a recorded voice began to repeat an order.

"Step away from the other candidates. Step away from the other candidates..."

Most of the fighters had broken away from each other the moment the lights had changed, but a handful were still struggling with each other.

The electro collars of any candidates still fighting: lit up. The wearers all howled, collapsing to their knees and releasing each other.

Even those no longer brawling, took several steps back from one another, eyeing the distance between them. No one was eager to be given the same treatment as the ones fidgeting on the floor.

The panels in the two opposite walls suddenly lit up- fading from a dull non reflective white, to a bright active static.

The brightness hurt and Ezra squinted through his fingers. He saw the Trandoshan jerk back, shaking his head and shielded his slitted eyes, and Massasi's snout jerked to the side, glancing behind him. The boy took the opportunity to dart away from the claws of the two beasts, almost tripping over his own feet to stand.

The bright light and the flashing red sirens cast odd silhouettes out of the candidates, and Ezra dodged between the shadows, lunging for the dimmest corner.

The walls along the sides, under the windows were cast in a dull light now, and Ezra struck the wall with both hands flat and spun around quickly, pressing his back against the panel and sucking in air through his teeth.

He hadn't been followed but his heart kept thundering in his chest. Ezra pressed a hand over his pounding chest, certain almost everyone would hear it.

Everyone was just standing still, listening to the sirens and static and waiting for something to change.

After about half a minute, the sirens suddenly cut off, leaving the room filled with the constant static buzz.

And then the walls cleared, and Ezra found himself staring into the monstrous projection of a man. The image took up much of the space on both walls, slightly warped by the blue tint of the holojector.

He was a human man, and an old one at that. Maybe sixty, seventy, if Ezra had to guess. But while he was clearly entering his later years, his skin still had what looked like, in the blue tint of the hologram, a healthy tan, and his hair was, while stark white, still thick enough to wear in a stunted knot at the base of his neck.  
His features were mostly unremarkable, and yet still somewhat handsome for his age. His nose was broad, and his mouth was set in a firm, pleasant smile over a neatly trimmed goatee. His eyes were crinkled at the corners like someone who smiled often.

The effect left Ezra feeling at odds, still flush with adrenaline, but now somewhat eased at this man's presence. Here was someone who would know what was going on. This was someone who would set things straight.

The projection of the man grinned, baring perfectly sharpened cannines, and Ezra was instantly on edge again.  
The softness was still there, in his face. But it was thinner now, like there was something sharp just below the surface, like a Nexu ready to pounce. The image shifted slightly, and Ezra got the impression this was a recording, and not a live feed. Now Ezra saw the man's collar, trimmed in a stately silver on clean white fabric.

It was the man in white Ezra realized, he looked up - but the windows were darkened now, and even from his angle they were too dark to see through.

"Greetings, Candidates." the face boomed, and the words echoed off the walls, distorting the sound a little with an odd echo.  
"I, am the head gamemaker. My name is not important. What is important, is that you understand you have entered into on of our galaxy's most honorable tradition."

His voice was steady and genuine and carried only a hint of some foreign lilt. Even his enunciation was clear, exact and formal. Forming the end of one sound before he started another, but without leaving an awkward space between his words. He was clearly well versed at public speaking.

"Many of you present, have passed the final call. I would like to extend my congratulations on making it thus far!"

Ezra tried not to let one word of it settle inside him. It was lies. He'd become well-versed in the smooth, pretty way liars liked to speak. He didn't need the Force to tell him that.

His spine almost sang with warning, a separate sensation to sharp paniced one he'd felt only moments ago. Every syllable this man spoke was another vibration through his nervous system. _Do not trust this man_ , and Ezra was fully prepared to take the universe's advice on that.

"However," the projection continued, "this only serves to prove that your battles will be much harder from this point onward, and it is prudent to consider your motivations in the coming days."

 _Days?_ Ezra felt the weight of words slip through his ears and sank into his chest, a pressure began to build on his chest. He could feel the man's speech coming to a crescendo.

"Your goal, is to compete for survival, and prove that you are the single mightiest victor. Slay your opponents, and defend your right to represent your sector of the Galaxy. Prove, that you, are without doubt, The Final Survival. The _Survivalist_."

Ezra dry swallowed, feeling the world go numb. So this was the game?

If the Crew didn't catch up to him and find a way to bust him out, he doubted he would see them ever again.

* * *

 **R &R** to see what the gamemakers have planned for our Poor Padawan D:


	8. Chapter 8

_AN:_ Hello all! I am not dead! I'm very sorry about the wait, I've had lots of dentist work done recently and it just ruined my creative appetite.

I feel like I made a mistake posting the last chapter before the next, the story still works but I feel that it could have been a smoother transition between the scenes. I may readjust them later- but for now, please enjoy more angst, and please continue to leave those amazing reviews!

 **The Survival Trials.**

Chapter 8

* * *

The holojection only lasted a few more minutes. The man's image that was stretched across the walls momentarily regarded the room, as if he could actually view them through the holojection. His patrician features tensed, and now he peered down on the candidates with an austere frown.

His lips were moving again, and Ezra had to swallow down hard, trying to clear the ringing and the pressure out of his ears. His heartbeat was in his stomach and he felt like he was breathing through a straw.

"As our final call has been... more _reductive_ then previous calls, battle from this point on will be dealt with immediate disqualification. "

 _Disqualification?_ Ezra perked up, perhaps there was a chance to escape before this stupid game could begin.

"Followed by execution."

Ezra's hope died. _Or not..._

"You will now be separated. All successful candidates will be processed so the final call can be made. The trials will officially begin in sixty-four hours."

Ezra grit his teeth. Sixty-four hours sounded such a long time to wait- and still far too soon. His heart fluttered nervously against his ribs. _I can do this,_ he thought seriously. _I just need to wait for the crew. They'll come for me. They will._

The figurehead of the Man-in-white smiled serenely down from the walls for a moment, sizing them up. Then, he dipped his chin in a brisk nod, one fine brow cocked just slightly higher than the other and grinned, bearing clean white teeth.

"Good hunting."

His steel eyes flashed, and the feed flickered, and then cut out.  
The lights returned with a flash, bright and burning and a rumble of murmurs began to rise from the room.

Ezra took in the room at a sweeping glance through squinted eyes, and did not like what he saw.

It looked, at first glance, that many of the other candidates were either standing awkwardly in place, or struggling back onto their feet. The ones standing swiveled on the spot, peering at each other with scrutiny and distrust, eyeing up their opponents.

But some weren't moving at all.

He could make out only few still lumps between the gaps in the tables. There was a bright red smear across one of the far walls and a oily blue spatter on a table edge close by the feet of a wilted Duros.

It took him longer for the sight to sink in then he liked, but after a few moments he realised what he was seeing.  
Ezra sucked in a hard breath and pressed back into the wall, wishing he could fade through it and leave this awful place. He would have closed his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears, trying to draw up an image of the Ghost. But he barely dared closed his eyes long enough to blink. He could sense the tension in the room growing with every passing second, and he didn't want to be around when it peaked.

There was a shiver of movement in the corner of his eye and he snapped his head around.

The Massassi wasn't far away, his bulking weight folded across his chest. His simian features were narrowed but smooth as he surveyed the rest of the room with a calm and unsettling ease. A Nikto was standing back on one foot, not moving but certainly studying his challengers. The Dug was leaning casually against one of the benches, tutting and throwing a sneer at his 'opponents'. Ezra whipped his neck around, trying to keep the biggest threats in sight-

He was surprised, but impressed, to see the thin Xexto boy huddled under an upturned table, alive but clearly frightened and confused, eyes unblinkingly searching the room.

His attention was snatched away by the sound of claws shifting across the panel floor and Ezra picked out the Trandoshan across the room, lifting his maw high and breathing deep and tasting the air.

Ezra stiffened, and the hulking lizard snap his jaws around, staring straight at him.

Ezra felt his heart rate spike- and suddenly he was angry. He knew he'd offended the lizard somehow- but was it really enough to warrant this much of his focus? There were plenty of other candidates to pin his murderous rage on! Ezra had enough to worry about already without this monong sticking his scaly scout in his business.

Ezra found himself glaring back, and even if it was a stupid thing to do- he jerked the hand that didn't throb into the air and made a rude gesture with his middle finger that he wasn't allowed to make around Hera and Kanan. He was momentarily flushed with confidence and pride.

The Trandoshan's eye widened, just for a moment with surprise- and then thinned into angry slits.

Ezra knew it had been a mistake- and he dropped his arm as quickly as he could, but the damage was done.

The murmurs began to soften, and then the room fell quiet. A long tense moment passed, and Ezra could feel the pressure in the room rising. He swallowed, but his ears refused to pop and the air began to weigh down.

Wall panels shot up from the floor, penning Ezra inside the four squares of floor he stood on. He had to step back quickly to avoid the corner closing on his heel- and found himself standing in another box, with walls several times his height. They'd shot up so fast- he hadn't seen if the other candidates had been given the same treatment He hoped the others were penned, or it wasn't a good sign that he was going to be kept around much longer. _Not that a high wall's_ _gonna_ _keep an angry Trandoshan out for long_ , he mused darkly.

There was another whirl of mechanics and Ezra spun around to see the panels that had formed the wall of the white room before, were now withdrawing and revealing a grey steelum corridor. He could hear boots from somewhere around the bend in the wall.

Ezra didn't move for several seconds, pressing all his weight on his back foot. But there was no where to run.

Was this it? Already? A fight inside a box this small surely couldn't offer much entertainment value, or a challenge to his opponent. But the man-in-white had said the Trials wouldn't start for another three days. Had he failed the test? Would this tunnel lead to the gutters and the body chutes? Hadn't he proven he could play dirty?

All these thoughts flittered through his panicked mind, his hands closing into fists and his pulse drowned out the footsteps in his ears.

He was surprised when a Trainer appeared around the corner, wearing a slightly less bored expression then the previous one. He looked the boy up and down, and nodded his head along.

"Come on, I don't got all day."

Ezra didn't need to be told twice, he was happy to leave the white room. He tried not to think about where he might be going instead. He pushed off his back foot, feeling his legs shaking underneath him as he darted to the Trainer's side.

The wall panel closed sharply behind them, making the boy jump. The dimness of the tunnel was suddenly hard to see through after the brightness and Ezra blinked rapidly as he studied his surroundings, unwilling to be blind for long.

"You're going for assignment." The trainer told him firmly, and pointed his baton down the way he'd come. "Ain't you lucky."

" _Lucky's_ not the word I'd use." Ezra answered cautiously, quickly adding "Sir," as he remembered the first Trainers advice.

This Trainer snorted, amused, and prodded Ezra in the small of the back, pushing his ahead. "You ain't dead yet. That's more than most get this round."

Ezra bit down on his tongue as the acidic remark tried to creep up his throat. So he should be thankful, should he?

Visions of the red smears and the blue spatter crossed his mind and he shook them away. _I didn't do that,_ he told himself firmly.

 _Didn't I though?_ Asked another voice. _I started the fight._

Ezra chose not to answer, busying himself by chewing his tongue and focusing on counting how many steps he took in each direction. This place seemed much bigger than the Rebellion's main starship for Force's sake.

The trainer marched him up three more long, steel tunnels, finally leading him to a room with a fresher and a basin.

"Do yer business." The trainer instructed, turning his back in the doorway. "And make it quick. The makers don't want to waste any time."

Ezra studied the man's back for half a moment, scrutinising the backwards grip he held the baton at. _I could make a grab for it_ , Ezra thought. _I could take him out with the electro-prod- maybe pinch his uniform and his swipe cards. Find a comm deck- or a ship! I'll take a pod if I have too. Make a break for it._

He was just starting to warm to the idea, but barely a second after it occurred, the trainer glanced over his shoulder. "Don't be getting ideas, _fodder_. You're still wearing a collar. This ain't our first time at the brawl. We got eyes on you. So don't be make any decisions that'll gets you shot though before we can put you on the feeds." he smiled crookedly and turned away again, clearly pleased.

Ezra turned away, scowling bitterly, internally scolding himself for forgetting that detail. He glanced at the grey and tan blur that was his reflection in the polished wall panels, eyeing the dark line that shadowed his neck. As long as he wore this awful collar, the 'makers' knew his every move.

Ezra washed his hands and face in the basin first, then relieved himself, and then washed his hands again. It was... more difficult than he'd have liked, to relax enough to do so. His nerves were shot, and even with the Trainers back turned, he couldn't loosen his muscles up, no matter what watery imagery he tried to conjure. Even the waterfalls of Naboo didn't help.

"You done yet?" The trainer demanded.

"Yeah." Ezra sighed, feeling weary and bitter and still uncomfortably full in the gut. "I'm done."

"Good. Now let's get moving. We've got a lot to organize before you're set _free_."

He said the word 'free' like he'd made a good joke, and flashed an ugly grin.

Ezra held his tongue, so far being somewhat civil and cooperative had kept him from any backlash from the the trainers. He hoped it stayed that way, he needed all the friends he could get right now.

They marched back down the first tunnels and left, and then took a right and then made a turn at a cross section that took them in a straight line for three minutes. Every hallway looked alike, but Ezra was starting to find features down the different hallways. A lighting fitting was broken at one corner, and a wall panel was scratched at another. He began to build a map in his mind, ignoring the voice at the back of his thoughts that told him he's never have the opportunity to use it.

The trainer tapped the baton on his shoulder, indicating Ezra to stop. The wall to the side revealed they had reached the end of the corridor of cell doors. Ezra was almost pleased at the idea he might see his box again. He desperately needed a lie down, and perhaps he could make use of his bucket without feeling watched.

There were six other candidates already present, standing roughly a foot apart in a single line, their eyes focused the wall across from them.

The first one Ezra recognised was Nikto, standing at the very front of the line-up. Behind him stood a Rodian with narrowed eyes and beyond him were three more figures Ezra recognised from the white room; the pale sharp woman, the insectoid and, unexpectedly, the Xexto boy. The kid looked thin and breakable standing beside such calloused crowd. Ezra wondered if he looked that out of place, just another skinny kid, more _fodder._

Behind each, stood a Trainer at attention, batons in hand, and at the very front stood two men. One, a wide set bald human man, with a hawkish nose and wearing a slightly cleaner, fancier blue uniform then the other Trainers. The other, Ezra recognised as the dark skinned man from the transport who'd had so much advice to give. Ezra thought suddenly of the questions he's asked, Ezra's skills in weaponry, his ability to survive, and his advice on how to stay in the game. It seemed so obvious now what he'd been in for.

Neither one looked up, and no one spoke as Ezra was nudged forward and into formation at the end of the line.

Ezra shuffled into place, trying not to stare at the Trainer he'd come to think of as the only one who seemed to want to help him to stay alive. But the dark man didn't even glance in his direction, he just stood to the side and nodded as his counterpart muttered firmly in a low voice Ezra couldn't hear.

The hawk-nosed man wore two black stripes down each shoulder, and he carried a datapad in one meaty hand, and a hand-held scanner in the other. His face was pudgy, but his brow was furrowed in a serious line. His narrowed eyes darted up and down the formation, like he expected the candidates to step out of line at any moment and was waiting for an opportunity to act on it.

No one did.

The door ahead pulled aside again and Ezra's gut pinched as he was greeted by the sight of two thin narrow slitted eyes.

So the Trandoshan was in too, was he? That wasn't surprising. But it was distressing- no, Distress wasn't the word. Terrifying? Petrifying? Those sounded more fitting.  
Ezra wondered if the lizard had been brought here against his will like him, or paid his way into the Trails, for an opportunity to brawl.

The Trandoshan was marched forward, his trainer looking smaller and less charging then his cohorts. The man held the baton with the electro prod extended, and his face set with a sort of frightened focus.

The Trandoshan paid him no mind, seeming to move forward by his own accord. His wide gait meant the man had to stumble to take three steps to his one as he came to the end of the line.

Ezra picked a spot on the far wall, a little divert in the paintwork, and focused all his attention of it, forcing himself to breathe and keep his face blank. It was like meditating, but less relaxing.

The Trandoshan drew closer, and then drew even and then out of Ezra's peripheral sight. But he could hear the lizard stop, possibly an inch closer than he needed to, and turned about to face the same wall Ezra was, snorting quietly thought his snout.

 _Stay calm,_ Ezra told himself firmly. _He can't do anything here- he's collared too- and if he tried he'd be sorted out, quick smart._

While Ezra knew it was true, even his own words couldn't help the uneven pounding in his chest. Beside him the Trandoshan let out a soft gurgling rumble with each exhale.

His thoughts were interrupted by the doors reopening, this time admitting the Dug.

They waited in silence, until all the candidates stood upright and aligned. The doors split apart, and admitted fifteen more candidates, making for a total of 24 by Ezra's count. He recognised the Gotal and the tentacled creature from the white room, and now noticed a female Mahran and Bothan he hadn't seen the first round. They were starting to fill the corridor up around mark 18, and Ezra had a faint bubble of hope that just maybe, perhaps something had gone wrong and-

The doors opened, and the Massassi entered, his red hulking form taking up much of the doorway.

Ezra dry swallowed, and almost wanted to smile at his optimism. Well of course they'd made room for the Massassi.

The Siman faced man moved forwards, almost leaving his Trainer behind as he moved. As he passed Ezra, a chill passed through him, and he grit his teeth, trying to mentally shake off the reminder of how he'd felt on that asteroid, so long ago now.

Any plans he hadn't already made to stay away from the beast, were well and truly concreted at the front of his mind.

The Trandoshan heaved a slightly heavy snort as the Massassi marched past, and Ezra hoped that the two would keep each other busy.

Finally, there were 24 of them, lined up and waiting. The moment the last candidate took their place, the hawk-nosed man broke into action.

He ceased talking to the Head Trainer, and peeled away, beginning a casual, yet commanding stroll down the line up. The Data pad folded under his arm, and the scanner gripped tightly in his hand. His eyes rolled over the candidates like he was assessing stock, and Ezra was reminded of the Clerk back in the slaver pens. Was he going to file them away based on what he saw, like that clerk had? If so, Ezra certainly had no hope, standing beside a Trandoshan.

Hawk-nose reached the midway point of the line up, and abruptly began to speak.

" _You_ ," he began serious, eyeing them for wandering gaze or a disrespectful attitude, "are all here- because you have passed the final call."

He paused, letting his words echo with weight. His accent was central and Ezra half wondered what kind of resume you needed to get a position like his.

"You have all be chosen for a variety of reasons, some for skill, some for entertainment." The man eyed the Xexto, then his chilling gaze flitted past Ezra and hovered down the line.

Ezra felt his expression flicker into a grimace, and straightened it out at once. He knew what category he fit into, and he was determined to make sure these gamemakers would earn _no_ value of entrainment over watching his struggle to survive. It was almost funny, in a Galaxy where almost everyone was oppressed, _more_ struggle was staged for entertainment.

Ezra knew far too well that struggling was no fun when you were the one doing it.

"Regardless of your rank on the outside- in here, as far as you are concerned- We-," he pressed a fat fist to his chest still holding the scanner, and then waved a second back at the start of the line up, indicating the Head Trainer, "-are the final word."

Ezra took the opportunity to glance at the Head Trainer, and he was annoyed to see that the man looked _Bored_ of all things. Chewing on what Ezra assumed was Soft Tabacco, and watching his counterpart conduct the proceedings like a dramatic reading. Ezra turned back to the bald man, gritting his jaw tight.

"From now on. You do not associate with names. You will not discuss where you are from. You will be assigned a number that will correspond with your tag."

He turned sharply on one boot, and marched back towards the star of the line up. A soft murmur rose up among the candidates, and Ezra glanced right and immediacy straightened when green scales appeared in his peripheral.

He came to a stop at the beginning, looking the Nikto over, peering down his long nose. His profile reminded Ezra of his Master, bearing down and scritinising his saber forms- only there was no hint of warmth hidden behind his grim smile.

"You are number one." he announched heavily, and brought data reader up to the collar.  
A little light on the datapad flickederd and the front now read 'one' in aurebesh. He tapped quickly at the screen, adding notes Ezra couldn't see.

After a minute, the Trainer moved onwards to the Rodain and lifted the reader up to the shock collar. "Number two."

Ezra blinked, and he quickly glanced the line up and down. Doing the math, he realised he was standing in the spot designated for number Seven.

 _Maybe I can use this_ , Ezra wandered, _to send a message, a hint, to the outside world. A code?_

He inclined his head to his right and then quickly looked away when the Trandsoshan growled in his throat. His eyes slipped to the left and he saw the Xexto kid.

The kid looked scared witless, hopeless, and Ezra felt a pang of sympathy. If everyone thought h _e_ was the blaster fodder here, what did that mean for the four-armed kid?

"You are number three."

Ezra doubted this kid was anywhere near as lucky as he was to have a Crew of Rebels hot on his trail.  
If the kid was here, it was likely had had no one at all.

That thought struck a chord, and Ezra winced and pushed it away. He couldn't let this distract him, he had a job to do, promises to keep. He'd done enough reckless charity for this excursion, and look where saving other kids had gotten him. He wondered what had happened to the mother and daughter. He hoped, whatever it was, that his reckless behaviour had at the very least kept them out of the red-light districts.

He thought briefly of two pairs of green eyes, bright with gratitude and relief- and he was suddenly struck with guilt- and anger, for thinking he was better off not trying to help the Xexto boy. Isn't that what Hera- what the Crew had taught him? What good was his life worth, if he didn't use it to help others? He might not be free, or with his crew- helping the galaxy. And it might be reckless, and dumb- but maybe he could still help the Xexto kid.

True freedom was freedom of the soul, as Kanan would say; and he had learned that in a world where everyone was a slave to injustice; one good deed could make you a free man, even if you were in a jail cell.

He glanced towards the bald Trainer, who was having trouble to marking number three. He was preoccupied, and still a dozen feet away.

Ezra ducked his head into his chest, just a little and spoke softly, almost directly out the corner of his mouth. "Hey. Kid."

The Xexto boy reacted like he'd been struck, and his thin face jerked an inch towards Ezra. Eyes wide.  
"Be cool kid. It's okay." Ezra quickly added, glancing between the Trainers and trying not to move his jaw to obviously.

The kid narrowed his eyes and his voice came out worried but at a whisper. "wh-what do you want?"

Ezra gave an inward sigh of relief, glad that the kid knew basic. He inclined his head to the man assigning numbers, who seemed to be having trouble programming The sharp woman's collar. She was glaring with dissatisfaction, while the reader was failing to connect with her collars signal.

Ezra did his best to give a friendly smile, without looking directly at the boy.  
"Wanna trade places with me? You're standing where six will be. And six is kind of like, my number, see?"

The kid's grey eyes darted back to the man and then back on Ezra. "We'll get in trouble!" he hissed, pulling his thin shoulders up and trying to shrug his long neck into his small chest.

The shock collar looked loose on him, and hung down on his flat chest instead of sitting around his shoulders. _That must_ _chafe_ _like kriff,_ Ezra noted. The boy shifted his feet just a little, trying to put more space between himself and the troublemaker.

Ezra frowned, he didn't want to draw attention to the kid, but if it looked like he wasn't going to agree to swap.

Hawk-Nose finally finished with number four and moved to number five with a stream of irritable muttering.

Ezra frowned. It wasn't likely the Ghost crew knew where he was, but anything he could do that might draw their attention- and only theirs, was worth the risk.

 _In for a credit, in for the cache,_ the other half of his brain said. _How much worse could it get?_

 _A lot_ , drawled another voice, one that sounded a lot more like Kanan everyday.

Ezra breathed shallow, and then sucked in a deeper breath. He hoped if anyone got in trouble for this, it was him, and not the kid.

"Excuse me, Sir?" Ezra said loudly, trying not to wince at the way everyone's head snapped towards him or the way his words echoed in the quiet hall.

The Trainer looked up sharply and narrowed his eyes. His expression looked torn between anger, and baffled surprise that Ezra had spoken out of turn. "What is it, _candidate_?!"

Ezra risked a short glance to the head Trainer standing a little ways behind Hawk-nose. He was looking towards Ezra, his face unreadable. If he really did care enough, maybe he was disappointed that the Kid was trying to get himself killed even after his advice. Ezra put his focus back on Hawk-nose, and slipped on his most placating, _respectful_ , smile.

"I was wondering please, Sir, if the Xexto and I may swap places. I'd very much like to be number Six, Sir."

The man's eyes flashed on the Xexto boy briefly, who looked down at his feet and trembled. Deducing the kid wasn't involved, his attention snapped back to Ezra, his face was scrutinising. "You _Want_ to be Number Six?" He demanded dryly, and somewhat sardonically.

"Yes Sir. I would." Ezra replied in his most sincere tone.

The man shifted for a moment then jutted his chin to the side, his bald head reflected the cheap filament lighting in the ceiling. Ezra was surprised he was actually considering it, and he could feel the air around him change as the other candidates sensed it too. This wasn't ideal...

Hawk nose furrowed his brow and glared hard at Ezra, who did his best to keep his face straight as the man's eyes bore into him. He could barely breathe and he forced himself not to flinch when the Trainer turned away sharply and gave one short glance over his shoulder to the Head Trainer.

The dark man was resting his chin on his chest, watching the interaction from under his thick brows. His expression gave nothing away, but Ezra saw, he gave Hawk nose a very clear short nod.

Hawk nose spun back around, his face twisted in annoyance. He snorted hot air though his beak nose. "Be quick about it." he snapped, indicating the switch should have already happened. "If you try anything, I'll fry you." he held out the data pad to make his point. Ezra didn't want to see what this shock collar could do.

Ezra nodded once, quickly and bowed his head a little. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." he stepped out of line and moved behind the Xexto boy and slid in between him and the humanoid. The Xexto kid had to take a quick step to the right to avoid being shunted out of line and probably fried for it.

Once the line was resettled, Ezra stared straight ahead awaiting his turn. When the man stepped up he said "Number Six." in an exaggerated tone. Ezra lifted his chin and steeled his jaw in a way he remembered the Trooper cadets doing. The man almost, but not quite, rolled his eyes at him, snorting down on him with disdain. He lifted his data pad up to the shock collar.  
Ezra swallowed, and heard it make a small beep. The data pad display added the number Six to the list. Ezra let out a breath, feeling light-headed.

Hawk-nose stared him down for just a moment, before turning, and stepping along the line.

"Number Seven." The Trainer announced, barely glanced at the Xexto boy. He pointed the scanner and the kid's thin lip trembled. The collar beeped and the man moved on to the Trandoshan.

"Number Eight."

Ezra waited until the Trainer was well along the line, near the Coralian man who became number eleven.  
Then he inclined his head a little and in a soft voice said, "Thanks for the swap kid. And look how it turned out, now your number seven. That's a Lucky number."

The boy frowned at the wall across from them, avoiding Ezra's eyes. Ezra wondered if he was mad at him for getting the kid involved. Then the boy's mouth twisted, and ducked his head a little closer.

"If it's so lucky then why'd you give it up?" he demanded in a thin, angry voice.

Ezra shrugged. "I make my own luck."

The Trandoshan to their right let out a low rubbing growl and Ezra stood up straight. He did not risk opening his mouth again and neither did the Xexto, number Seven.

When the numbers were all assigned, Number one was taken away and they were sent to wait in their boxes.

Ezra sank against the walls of his box with a heavy sigh, resting his spine flat against the wall and letting his head fall back. His head was throbbing again and he was suddenly exhausted.  
The collar settled uncomfortably under his jaw, and he bolt upright with an irritated growl ,and then turned angrily onto his side.

He ran an absent fingertip along the rough durocrete surface of the floor, thinking about the smooth panels of the ghosts walls. He withdrew his hand, letting his palm drag across the bumps and pulling his knuckles under his chin.

He closed his eyes, but his mind was too restless to fall immediately asleep.

He allowed himself to imagine his bunk. Warm, and secure, and Zeb's snoring drifting up from below. He thought about the texture of his blanket, and the musky familiar scent of cabin air.

 _It won't be long, and I'll be back there,_ he told himself firmly. _I've just got to hang on for a little longer._

* * *

 **R &R** for more chapters and more mind games.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** Hi all. I'm sorry for the wait, but I've recently found a second beta who has truly schooled my writing and helped me identify what is valuable to the story and what's just extra weight.  
This story is going to go through some serious changes with the writing style so it will probably slow me down, but I hope it makes for a cleaner, easier read for you all. Please let me know what you think, and I promise I will work hard to give you all the story you want to read.  
Please enjoy all the feelings you're about to have, with the longest chapter yet.

 _All_ the thanks to Unfathomablefandoms and Meepicheep.

 **The Survival Trials**  
Chapter 9

* * *

Finding the docking Bay that the Ranat had spoken of wasn't a challenge. The crowd was cleaner and less cut throat towards the higher end of the market, but not by much. The pavilion floor was sunken, lined with busy walkways, and vendors had filled the rectangular space with stalls and carts. Some were beginning to pack away their wares and makeshift shanties, but there was still plenty of bodies to make clear line of sight impossible.

Kanan eyed the line up of star ships along the docking bay. They were all expensive cruisers, small luxury liners, and a few shining gunships. It looked like Ezra had been bought by someone with a lot of credit to burn. But who? And why would a rich bag want the boy? Kanan felt his frown deepen, and judging by the way he could feel the crew shifting uncomfortably behind him, they were wondering this too.

"Split up." Kanan commanded without a glance back. Sabine and Zeb peeled away without saying a word, seamlessly melting into the crowd.

Kanan, keeping pace, pulled in a breathe of the dirty air and let it out with a irritable snort. Hera lay her hand on his arm, and one look into her eyes was enough to steel him.  
They said nothing, turning to the opposite side. The two teams cut a path around the edge of the sunken markets, then worked through them, keeping their ears prickd and eyes peeled for anything that grabbed their attention.

Kanan and Hera had reached the wide mid lane that led to the docking bay, when Sabine's voice broke through on their communicators. "Uh, Specter Five to Specter One. There's someone here we know. Check your four o'clock."

Hera shot a hot stream of air through her nose as she recognized a red bulbous Jablogian seated in a hover-chair, moving down the ramp of a rusted gozanti class cruiser. Two guardbots flanked his side and he looked pleased as punch as he entered the only standing building in the area, a makeshift cantina.

"Azmorigan!" Hera hissed, no longer calm. Her solemn face masked a storm. They watched bulbous man disappear into the crowd along the docks, the back of his chair visible just above the crowds heads.

Hera rounded on Kanan, her brows pinched together, "Could it be a coincidence?"

He shrugged, slowly shaking his head. "Someone bought Ezra, and we know Azmorigan's not above holding a grudge. But it seems foolish to hang around if he actually has Ezra. He knows we let him walk last time. Why's he so confident?"

Sabine and Zeb appeared behind him as he spoke, and the Lasat snorted heavily through his snout.  
"Azmorigan is the worst kind of fool, the kind who doesn't realize he is one."

Hera put out a hand and Sabine wordlessly handed over the Twi'lek's blaster.

"We need to be sure about this." Kanan continued. "I'm not wasting time dealing with Azmorigan if we can avoid it."

"I just saw a security holocam at the slaver pens." Sabine offered, "Maybe I can lift some footage. The guard shift should have changed over by now, They won't recognize us."

Kanan turned to Hera, his mouth twisted.  
"I'm not comfortable sending you in there without backup."

Zeb swung his rifle up, pumped the action and grinned raucously. "She's got back up."  
Sabine turned her helmet towards him and smiled unseen.

Hera met Kanan's eye. Her expression was tight, but her lips quirked at the corners.  
"They'll be fine. Let's discuss Azmorigan."

Kanan pressed a palm into his forehead and sighed. "Ok. Go. But, I want you back ASAP. Do not draw attention to yourselves!"

The two were already stepping away. Sabine took the time to salute, before breaking into a jog. Zeb crouched down low and soon all they could see in the crowd were flashes of pink and two purple-grey ears.

Hera pulled Kanan's elbow towards the rusted cruiser.

They two walked the full length of the ship taking in every angle and hatchway, all without once looking directly at it and keeping another eye out for the return of the crime lord.  
Kanan settled against a wall across the lane, facing the ship with his arms folded tight. He let his breathing slow, and extended his senses. Through the Force, he could see in sharp clarity that there were six guards, two footmen, and two more life signatures on board.

There was no Padawan, yet Kanan searched again. He reached for blue, because Ezra's presence had always felt a bit like how Kanan imagined the colour might: bright, electric, and likable.

The thought made his chest ache, when he felt the very wide and tender lack of blue around him, a void that had nothing to do with the colour.

No Ezra had never been on that ship. Was it a coincidence?  
Kanan opened his eyes, near defeated. They were surely out of time.

Hera lay a hand on his arm, her eyes soft. "He's not on board."

"No." Kanan admitted, "He never was."

* * *

Getting into the Auction House had been easier than expected. The pens out the front were now emptier, the guards had changed, so no one recognized the two.  
Sabine and Zeb walked right through the front door, flashing a bag of credits and demanding to see the best stock left.

The clerk that met them was more than willing to help at the sight of the coin purse  
"The auctions are right this way. Would you like a private viewing booth?"

The clerk was trying hard to impress them, laying the charm down thick.

'Packing our ears shut with sugar' Sabine thought, recalling how Ezra felt about such shamelessly obvious sales pitches.

"How do you handle payment?" She asked, loudly enough to cover the sound of Zeb's low growl.

"We take credit on hand for small sums," the clerk assured her, "But for larger payments we prefer blind transfer. We have quite a complex security system, I assure you all your transactions will remain anonymous to any third parties."

"Do you complete all banking on the ground?" Sabine pressed, glancing away as they passes a hallway of closed door.

The clerk shot her a sidelong look, and Sabine jumped on the words before he could ask. "My clients insist upon anonymity."

He nodded and lead them along a third hallway. "I can certainly respect that…" He broke himself off, glowering at his beeping datapad and hitting it on the side. The screen display fritzed and then resettled. He sighed.  
"I apologize. We had some ... _trouble_ earlier and I dropped my equipment in the fray. It hasn't worked the same since." _Trouble?_ Sabine smiled behind her faceplate. Trouble was Ezra's middle name.

"May I see it for a moment?" Sabine offered pleasantly, putting out a hand. "I'm quite good with data circuts."

Zeb sensed where this was going and stepped to the side. Casually stretching, he reached up and covered the holocam set into the corridor wall with his enormous hand.

The clerk didn't notice. With an airy sniff he lay the datapad in her hand. "Please, be careful. My entire stocklist system is …"

He was cut off by Sabine's hard jab to the throat. He stumbled backwards into the empty hallway Sabine finished him with a crack to the jaw. He landed unconscious with his arms splayed out.

Zeb hauled him upright and Sabine checked him over for keycards.

She found a set of ID tags and straightened up, keying away at the datapad until she found what she was looking for: the location of the banking room. "Let's go."

Zeb followed her brisk, but casual pace. Sabine led them through the hallways, occasionally passing a Zygerrian guard who gave them an odd look but never stopped to question them.

"That was quite a punch." Zeb said, after passing their third guard, giving the girl a gentle punch on the arm.

The remark was meant to pull a smile out of the girl, but instead her shoulders drooped.

"Ezra and I've been practicing our sparring. He kept saying how he wanted to surprise you with a tackle." She replied in a flat voice.

Zeb let his arm drop and frowned, but the image of the skinny boy launching himself with hopes of taking the Lasat down, gave him a smallest of smiles.

"Well, when we've sorted him out, I'll give him one freebie. If he can take my feet out, I won't just be impressed, I'll shave my beard off like he's always threatening."

This seemed to work enough that Sabine flashed him a half smile from under her helmet. Zeb knew how to read her body language to know she'd perked up.

"This way," Sabine said, pulling him down a sixth corner.

The banking room was unguarded, which suited them fine. Sabine used the keycard in the door, and they were in.

Two clerks were seated at a control deck, neither glanced from their workscreens as the door opened. Zeb walked behind them and knocked their heads together with none of his usual frivolity. Sabine slipped one out of his chair and got to work.

She keyed away madly. Zeb glanced anxiously between the door and the data flashing across the screen.

"I wish I had Chopper! There's…. There's so much here! They made millions today alone!" Sabine hissed in both disgust and awe. She punched the console.  
"I'm not interested in the yearly report! Just find me the fat bastard's name or look for the kid."

Sabine glared at the screen, and then she stopped. "I got it!" Her fingers ran along the screen reading the aurebesh, "Azmorigan, blind auction house, credit transaction of…. " Her words stopped.

Zeb turned to see.

"What? What is that?" He glanced at the numbers across the screen. Zeb didn't know much about the finances of the slave trade, but he knew that number next to Ezra's picture was a kriff load of money. In the slave trade, a lot of money never meant anything good.

Sabine was already reaching for her communicator.

 _"_ Spectre one, I've got credit transfers here with Azmorigan's name all over them. It doesn't say for... what."

* * *

Hearing Sabine's message, Kanan frowned.

Hera spun on her heel in the busy street and planted an arm on the wall next to Kanan, her brows pinching together and flicking her lekku irritably.  
"If he's not keeping him on board, where is he keeping him?"

Kanan shook his head, but the lethargy that had frozen him, retreated. He drew his blaster and nodded at the ship. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Hera's eyes calculated the ship and the emptying docking bay and the buildings in the square. Her lips pulled tight in a flat line and she faced him with a hard look in her eyes. "Have Zeb and Sabine keep watch from the rooftop when they get back."

Kanan nodded once, his expression clouded.

They contacted Sabine and informed the two Spectres of the "plan" he and Hera had agreed on, trying not to mention any details.

" _That doesn't sound like much of a plan."_ Zeb growled.

"Just get back to the docking bay as soon as you can."

Taking over the ship was easier then Kanan had expected. Hera hadn't exaggerated how easily overcome the men Azmorigan's hired hands were. Caught off guard playing sabaac, neither Kanan or Hera had to fire a shot. Hera made quick work of tying them up in one of the escape pods.

The slaves were a different story. Kanan found them in one of the cabins, just sitting, quiet and peaceful, with their legs crossed and their hands in their laps. A chain ran from the collars on their necks to a ring in the wall. They were not wearing pilot suits, or much else at all really.

Kanan meant to simply pull the door shut and lock it, but at the sound of his boots, they both flinched and stared at him with wide fearful eyes.

Kanan was struck by how much they looked like Hera. Then he blinked and saw they were both the wrong shade of green and one had hazel eyes while the other's nose was too long.

"Sorry ladies." he said, "We'll let you out when we've dealt with the boss." He pulled the hatch shut and put his Saber through the controls before either could react. He was glad Hera was still busy tying the footmen up.

So Azmorigan had really fixated on Hera and her ridiculous escape, had he?

Kanan's thoughts bounced from Azmorigan, to the two green Twi'lek slaves to his missing Padawan, and the angry fire flared again. What if Azmorigan had transferred his fixation of Hera to part of her crew, to spite her? Would he have hurt Ezra?

Kanan swallowed the anger down and took several deep breaths, centering himself. Hera met him back in the galley, and gave him a tight smile.

Something twinged at the edge of his mind and Kanan nodded toward the dark corners of the room; Azmorigan had returned.

Hera nodded and stepped behind the large throne at the end, blaster drawn.

Kanan pressed himself to the wall behind the door, tucked into the darkness.

Azmorigan entered without his hover chair followed dutifully by his the large bronze guard droids. His gait was wobbly and uneven, but he was smiling and noshing furiously on a piece of fruit. The juice was dripping off his chin, and he wiped his sleeve across his jaw. He didn't sense anything amiss on board his ship.

The droids had barely cleared the doorway when Kanan moved. He put two blaster shots through one's circuitry. The second lifted its automatic blaster, activating its front shields. But Kanan had already rolled under its long legs and shot it through the back of its head. Kanan lost no love for droids, well, at least not the ones without personality. Both bots let out a fadding hum and hung their heads, sparking sparks from the blaster holes.

Azmorigan jumped backwards as the hatch slammed shut behind him, his eyes widening as he stared first at his fallen droids and then at Kanan's drawn blaster.

The crime lord looked truly stupefied for a moment, then his bug eyes narrowed and he sputtered in anger.

" _How_ did you find me? H-H-How are you here s-so quickly?"

Hera slipped out of the shadows, grabbed the Jablogian by the shoulder, and jammed her blaster sharply into the back of his fat neck. Azmorigan straightened at once, his thin arms coming up in a weak gesture of surrender. He clearly didn't know Hera as well as Kanan did. She wouldn't shoot him, at least not yet.  
Lucky for Azmorigan, the Ghost crew had a code of ethics. But nothing challenged Hera's cool collected calm more than dealing with slavers.

"Tell us where he is." Hera demanded coldly, her long lithe form easily controlling the fat puddle of gangster.

Azmorigan's eyes flittered left and right, and his mouth twitched as he stuttered. "I don't know who you're talking about."

Hera fired the blaster, straight down, right between the man's heels.

"I don…don…"

The next shot was fired so close, the heat melted the tip of Azmorigans shoes. She pushed the hot barrel back into his chubby neck folds.

"Don't lie." Hera demanded, "I left you in one piece last time, but I won't make the same mistake again, if you don't tell me the truth."

Kanan cleared his throat, putting the attention back on himself, and eyeing Azmorigan with disgust. "We have an agent on the docks that has stashed an explosive charge in every corner of the ship we could find." Kanan took a step closer, his blaster at eye level. "No matter how many scans your perform on this ship, I can assure you, you will never find them all. If we don't leave without _all_ our questions answered, we will blow this burner up. Whether that's now- or in a few hours, whether you're on board or not. So it's in your best interest to make sure we leave in a good mood."

Azmorigan smacked his mouth in distaste, shot his eyes around the room and then shuddered in defeat.

"I...I bought the brat."

"We know." Kanan lied, feeling his heart rate speed up, "Now tell me where he is."

Azmorigan squirmed, trying to twist away from the hot barrel of Hera's blaster. Hera, in return, jabbed it hard into a fatty space between two ribs.

"I…I sold him on already." Azmorigan shouted fearfully. "I- I don't know where he is now!"

"Who did you sell him too?"

"I… I don't know any names! The market, they do that all for you! I just put up the funds."

Kanan's eyes narrowed, "Where did you buy him?"

"The body market." Azmorigan answered swiftly. "On the warehouse row. Fourteen hundred credits."

Hera sent Kanan a startled glance over the Jablorigan's head. It was a huge a sum. While Ezra's life was ultimately _priceless_ to them, a humanoid boy on the body market usually only ran a few hundred. Had they discovered Ezra was Force sensitive? A fresh wave of icy fear coated Kanan's stomach.

"Why so much?" He managed to spit out.

Azmorigan twisted his wide mouth and then clamped it shut, averting his gaze.

Kanan clenching his jaw, and locked his arms at his sides. Hera had more restraint when it came to this sort of thing. Kanan was sure he could be trusted not to get _carried away_. Not when this was about his Padawan in danger. But this time Hera surprised Kanan by grabbing Azmorigan's arm backwards, wrenching it higher, grinding the blaster muzzle deeper into his pudgy neck.

Azmorigan twisted his wide mouth and then clamped it shut, averting his gaze.

Azmorigan groaned and flailed a little, but still kept his mouth shut.

Hera tightened her hold in the smallest increments, digging her fingers into the soft nerves under the bone. "Azmorigan..." she growled, baring her teeth.

Azmorigan shuddered, and Kanan thought he might even be sobbing.

"It..." Azmorigan sputtered mournfully, his words coming out choked. "It was...a... _special_ auction."

The intonation sent a flash of cold fear through his veins, and Kanan bit down on his tongue and made sure to keep his hand fisted around his blaster away from the trigger. This was it, surely they knew Ezra was Force sensitive _._

Hera's blaster dug deep and Azmorigan was pushed to his knees, whimpering. "Special' _how?_ " she demanded, her voice a low growl.

"It was...The Survivalist hunt!"

Azmorigan had shouted the words like they meant something, but it only confused the two further. Hera threw Kanan a worried look, fearful of what this might mean. Kanan only swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden pit opening in his chest.

Azmorigan glanced up, and saw they weren't reacting. Kanan brought his blaster to the gangster's nose.  
"Keep talking."

Azmorigan swallowed dryly, stringing his words together carefully. "The hunt. You…you buy candidates…and they fight. They film it…for the underground holo-channels. You... put bets on the candidates and... It...it's a competition!"

"To win _what_ exactly?" Kanan growled. The pounding in his head had increased.

Azmorigan trembled, smacking his lips and turned back to face the dirty floor. Even stooped over, a glint of manic pride glimmered in his beady eyes.  
"They…they have to fight, each other. The last one... alive...wins their freedom."

* * *

The console lights in the bank room flickered across Sabine's face as Kanan signed off. She switched the link off on her wristcom and turned back to the blinked data lines.

"Alright come on, back to the docking bay, that's an order." Zeb demanded, heading for the door.

"No, not yet." Sabine madly tapped away at the controls again. The screen flashed with images, and thin lines of data.

"No! We're not playing this again." Zeb growled, about to lift her out of the chair. "Kanan says we're out That means we get _out._ Now."  
"Not yet!" Sabine snapped, furiously typing and then suddenly came to a stop.

"Sabine…" Zeb stopped himself from saying anything more, because on the screen now was an image from one of the security cams in a wide barer hallway. Along one side of the walls was a line of slaves, cuffed to a chain gang. They were mostly humanoid, but all looked worse for wear and hung their heads, except for one.

Ezra looked skinnier and smaller than ever, between two large men, but his chin was lifted as he looked straight down the line up with a narrow, unimpressed sort of look on his face. He was sporting a wicked bruise on his forehead, and he looked tired, but he was alive.

Zeb swallowed and lay a hand on Sabine shoulder. "Come on," he ordered softly.

Sabine moved, but not before plugging in a data card into the control deck and downloading the image, the transaction records and anything else that would fit on the drive.

They made their escape, walking purposefully, Sabine leading them away from any hallways that traveled too close to any auction houses. As they neared the entrance, Zeb could feel a slight breeze from the outside. He'd never been happier to smell the foul market air.

They were almost through the door, but had to slow to walk behind a wide set Ithorian man, walking with a thin dark woman and a girl at his side.

"You'll like my farm." The Ithorian insisted kindly. His tone sounded a little apologetic, and he glanced at the mother and the child with tilt to his large head. "I promise I'll treat you both well. I have children too."

The mother nodded, her braids swinging, but didn't not reply. She glanced down at her daughter who was looking over her shoulder at Sabine with wide green eyes.

Sabine felt a little of the weight come off her chest, watching the Ithorian lead the two slaves away. Perhaps not all slaves ended up in the worst places, but it was certainly not the case for all and probably not the case for Ezra.

She grit her teeth, and as soon as the doorway was clear, she and Zeb broke into a jog.

They found a hidden spot on a rooftop by the docking bay next to Azmorigan's ship. Kanan had been very clear how they were not to come aboard, but instead to wait for them.

"How do you think it's going?" She asked Zeb, trying to imagine what might be happening on board.

Zeb frowned and shrugged. "You know how Kanan is, but if I've got an idea, it's Hera who's running that show."

Sabine shuddered, and eyed the crowd below them. There were less sentients walking the streets, most vendors had packed and left, and the streets were clear. Only a few vendors were still selling, the air already smelt cleaner.  
It was odd, seeing how the bustling market had become a near ghost town in a matter of hours. It was no wonder this place was called the invisible market.

Zeb must have been thinking the same thing, climbing to his feet and prowling along the rooftop edge, growling. "They better hurry up- or someones going to ask why we're still hanging around."

"There!" cried a voice.

A blaster bolt shot between them. Sabine smoothly spun on her heel and lifted both of her own blasters, firing off a spray in the direction the first shot had come from. A thick and angry Zygerrian man with a nasty short range pistol stood in the middle of the laneway, with a dozen guards behind him, all raising their blasters.  
"Get them!" He shouted, pointing up at the rooftop. "They may have the Holocron!"

Her heart clenched in her chest and she exchanged half a glance with Zeb. It was the Zygerrians from the cargo hauler Ezra had boarded in Sobrik. If they knew the holocron was missing now, what did that mean for Ezra?

Zeb unsheathed his Bo-rifle and returned fire as another shot struck the wall beside his head.  
Sabine re-holstered one of her blasters and reached for her com, ducking behind the crumbling remains of a wall.

"Spectre 1, we've outstayed our welcome."

 _"So we've heard._ " Kanan replied, his voice bitter. _"Spectre 3, get the Ghost_ _airborne_ _and head for the dock bay 22. We have everything we're likely to find here."_

" _Buabwaa,"_ Chopper replied.

" _Just do it Chop!_ " Hera cut in, " _And warm up those turrents!"_

Sabine drew her blaster again and shot at the thick slaver's feet. "Zeb, I've got them. You watch shipside for Kanan and Hera" Zeb backed away from the firefight, still unloading his rifle. He swung to watch the walkway in front of Azmorigan's freighter. Kanan and Hera jogged down the hatchway, Zeb could see how tense both were. Behind them, the two Twi'lek slaves followed, huddled at Hera's back.

Kanan and Hera's time with Azmorigan had been... _informative._

Once the can had been opened, Azmorigan sensed that the more information he gave them, the more likely they would leave him unharmed.

Azmorigan was quite insistent on their speed, having only missed the boy by mere hours.

Kanan was livid.  
The rage he felt, the loathing he had for Azmorigan, was shadowed only by the knowledge that every second he wasted on the bastard, was another second Ezra was in danger.

Azmorigan had given them the names of several locations likely to show the event, and directions on how to gain entry. From there, they might be able to find out the where the Trials were being held, or at least who was involved.

He told them they would need to hurry. For split second his face split with a grin as if he thought they wouldn't make it.

Hera had twisted his face around, forcing him to look her dead in the eye for the first time, and the smile vanished. "You come after my crew again, and _I_ will be back for you."

The words were soft compared to what Kanan was holding behind his grit teeth, but Azmorigan flinched. Hera dropped him and he struggled to stand on his trembling legs.  
Then, she pulled back and punched him so hard he flew a few feet back and lay still.  
Kanan unlocked his fists for the first time, as Hera shook her hand, and gave him a heavy stare.

They left him bound and gagged to his precious chair and moved off through the ship, snagging a several credit transfer cards, and some additional blaster cartridges along the way.

Kanan put a hand out stopping Hera and pulling her down the corridor that lead to the cabins.

"Kanan, we don't have time to stop…." Hera cut her protests short as Kanan pulled out his lightsaber and gave her a dry look.

"You remember that when you see what's in here." he sliced through the bolts in the wall. Kanan snpped his saber off as the hatch swung inward. Hera peered into the dim lit room.

The Twi'lek women had stayed seated, but turned to look at who had wretched open their door. Their eyes widened at the sight of Hera, and then narrowed as Kanan stepped into sight.

Hera stared, taking in the women, obviously slaves. One looked younger with eastern features, the taller woman was older. Then Hera blinked. If she were an off-worlder, unfamiliar with Twi'lek culture and race, they might both bare a very slight resemblance to her, one that extended beyond the colour of their skin. Her lekku tensed, lifting in anger, and both the Twi'lek women responded, their expressions frightened and unsure.

Kanan lay a gentle hand on Hera shoulder, and gave her a soft squeeze, and watched her lekku resettle. "We have to go." He told her, and she nodded, not tearing her eyes off the girls.

Hera did her best to soften her face, and then swept her lekku forward over her shoulders, and opened her arms out in a gesture of peace and welcome.  
The change in the women was instant, and they both came to their feet and moved forward, their faces a mixture of surprise and relief to be spoken to with their own tongue. They ran the length of their chains. They began gesturing and speaking in rushed hushed tones all at once. Hera caught that the younger one did not understand basic, but the taller one did. She had been a servant to Azmorigan for eight weeks now. They wanted to know where he was, where the guards were, and was this human male their new master?

Hera put up both hands, and swept back her headtails with a flick, and the women silenced themselves at once. Hera reached and lay one hand on Kanan chest, and the other flat on her heart, "Kanan," she said, and at the same time, lifted her lekku and drew a circle over her heart with a finger.

Both the women took a step back now turning their eyes on Kanan, who frowned at the sudden attention.

"Ay' _kou_?" Asked the tall one hesitantly, and Hera smiled and nodded firmly.

The younger woman took a tentative step forward, and looked the Kanan up and down. Turning back to Hera, she smiled, flicking one lekku over her shoulder and stroking it gently, "Eswo Ka' _Nan_?"

The taller Twi'lek laughed very softly, and Hera's eyes went wide and her cheeks blushed faintly.

Kanan didn't understand the exchange, but from judging from Hera's reaction, the girl had suggested something not so innocent. In any other circumstances, he might have enjoyed the attention, but it was time to get moving.

His attention was snatched by the unmistakable sound of blaster fire outside the ship. The slave women immediately huddled together, fear back in their eyes. Kanan pulled his blaster and whipped around. Their communicators buzzed and Kanan snatched his com off his belt, while Hera spoke to the Twi'leks in hushed firm tones.

Kanan glanced to Hera, who gave him a firm nod as she took up her blaster and shot the chains free. The women gathered at her back, clearly scared but moving. "Spectre 3," Kanan commed Chopper as they moved through the cargo hauler.

They made for the gangplank, and Kanan was forced to jerk backwards to avoid a stray laser shot that whipped past his nose. He recognized the Zygerrians from Sobrik, at least thirty of them, or there had been before Zeb and Sabine had started shooting from the rooftop. The dusty streets were deserted now, whether because the market were truly over or the blaster fight had scared everyone off.

Kanan saw the shadow of a ship burst through the low hanging cloud of pollution in the air, and knew it was Chopper. The ship began to descend sharply, raising a windstorm of debris and trash.

He turned to Hera and pointed up at the nearest building with a flat top and a crumbling staircase where the Ghost would be able to reach them without landing in the street. "Get them upstairs. I'll collect 4 and 5!" He had to shout over the roar of the _Ghost's_ engines and the firefight, but he knew Hera understood. She gave him a single solid nod before urging the women across the empty alley, picking off gunmen as she ran.

Kanan bounded away, using what was left of an abandoned fuel canister, propelled himself onto the rooftop in two leaps, propelled by the force.

"What took you so long?" Zeb demanded, his body jerking from the recoil of his rifle. A laser shot grazed his face and he roared in fury as his beard singed

Kanan didn't waste time explaining, he pulled Sabine back from the edge and took her position. "Go! Chop's on his way!" he commanded. Kanan shot the blaster out of the lead Zygerrian's hand The gun went flying and he clutched his hand to his chest and roared.

Sabine sensed the end of the battle, but her heart was still thundering in her ears. They needed more time. She reached behind her, and pulled out three round detonation caps, and flung them over Kanan's shoulder into the street at the slavers boots.

"Go!" She shouted, and the men did not need to be told twice. The alley exploded in a cloud of purple and red. The blaster-fire ceased as most of the Zygerrians were knocked off their feet.

Sabine leapt onto the next rooftop and rolled neatly back onto her feet. Zeb and Kanan followed together, turning to stop and slow down the slavers who had survived the explosion with coverfire between the buildings.

The ghost was hovering over the flat top of a crumbling two story block, and Hera was descending the ramp firing her blaster into the fray.

Sabine reached the ship first, flying straight up the ladders to the _Phantom'_ s nose turrents. Hera went straight for the cockpit, and slid into her seat like a queen.  
"Good job, Chop." she called back, and the astromech trilled in response.

Kanan and Zeb landed on the ramp just as the ship began to lift away from the rooftop. The _Ghost_ 's engines roared, sending vibrations through their feet. A laser shot through the open hatchway and burned a mark into the wall. Kanan whipped around to see the barrel chested Zygerrian coming to his feet onto of the rooftop, his eyes ablaze.  
Zeb and Kanan returned fire from either side of the cargo door as the hatchway pulled shut. The _Ghost_ made a sharp turn upwards and they were both thrown against the walls.

They were breaking atmosphere in seconds. The ship leveled out as Hera plugged in hyperspace coordinates, and then they were launched into the void.

"Their aim is better than a Troopers'." Zeb muttered irritably, tugging on the charred edge of his beard.

"You always say you like a challenge." Kanan smirked. Zeb left off fussing with his beard and turned to the Kanan with a hard frown.

"So... the lard-case didn't have the kid then?"

The chill returned to Kanan's bones, and after a moment silent, Kanan shook his head. "No. He sold him on."

Zeb's yellow eyes bugged and he lurched forwards as if a torrent of words had leapt up his throat but he clamped his mouth shut and grit his large paws into fists.

Kanan said nothing, he didn't have the energy to expand on what they'd discovered just yet. He began heaving himself up the ladder into the cockpit, and after a moment, Zeb followed.

Hera turned in her seat as they came through the porthole, followed by Sabine.

The girl looked briefly into their faces, before sinking quietly into her seat. "What did you find out?" she asked, her tone even.

"Azmorigan has sold him on to a games arena." Kanan answered, his level voice dipping acidly at the mention of an _arena_. Both Sabine and Zeb's faces blanched and then filled with cold fury. Kanan continued on, his voice steady. "They have a two hours on us, but we probably have a few weeks before the match starts."

"I've already sent word to Fulcrum." Hera put in, her eyes flashing. "The base will start weeding out locations, try to narrow down the options."

"Wait, Azmorigan didn't tell you a location?" Sabine demanded. Zeb lay both hands flat on his knees and squeezed, his arms shaking from the effort.

"No." Kanan answered quietly turning to look out the viewport where the tunnel of blue was swept past. He consciously had to push down on his urge to reach out, because he knew Ezra would not be standing beside him or only down the hall like always. He was far away. Far out of his reach.  
"But we have an in."

"The man in blue."

Sabine spun around, surprised to see others were on board. A tall green Twi'lek woman dressed in gauzy silks and a blanket from Hera's bunk wrapped over her shoulders was standing in the hatchway. She peered at them all with narrow eyes, and then fixed on Kanan.

"Uh- Hera?" Sabine began quietly, but stopped when Zeb shook his head.

"Man in blue came to collect the boy that Master Azmorigan purshased."

A second small green woman appeared behind her, nodding furiously, but kept her mouth firmly shut.

"You saw Ezra?" Kanan asked, his heart lifting. Finally some tangible proof of his Padawan.

"What else?" Hera asked, coming to her feet.

The Twi'lek woman lifted a finger and pointed at the bare skin of her upper arm. "He wore knives, in a circle."

"A logo?" Sabine guessed, turning back to Hera. "Maybe an insignia?"

Hera pursed her lips, withholding a grimace. It was such a vague lead. "That could help if we could get a better idea of what it looked like."

"I might be able to help with that," Sabine exclaimed, lurching to her feet and heading for her cabin. She was back within moments, one of her many sketchbooks in hand. She drew a rough design and then flashed it to the taller Twi'lek woman, who shook her head, and pointed at something on the paper. This went back and forth several time before the Twi'lek crossed her two index fingers and then pointed to the paper.

When Twi'lek woman nodded in agreement, Sabine passed the sketchbook to Hera who frowned. It was a simple design, with the shape of two short daggers crossed pointing up and surrounded by a circle of oval leaves.

"This should help at least." she sighed, passing it on to Kanan who glared at the page. Hera turned to the women and tilted her lekku aside. "I'm very sorry, but when we make contact with our friends, we will have to leave you there. We won't be far away. They will take very good care of you, perhaps return you to your clans. You do not belong to Azmorigan or _anyone_ anymore."

The taller smiled warmly and nodded to Hera and then to Kanan. With a smooth sweep of her arm, she brought her lekku forward and pressed her hands flat on her chest. The shorter Twi'lek followed suit. " _Arni'soyacho_ ," they whispered in unison, their eyes starting to glisten.  
Hera smiled, a little sadly and put her hands out, accepting theirs and squeezing.

"They said: _thank you._ " Sabine said quietly, seeing Kanan didn't understand the exchange.

The weight on his chest lifted by an inch and he sucked in a heavy sigh, and smiled.

The women moved to leave, and Kanan found himself moving forward.

"Wait, Is there anything else you can tell us? We must find the boy."

The older Twi'lek swept her lekku back over her shoulders. "I don't know the men who came, they have not done business with Master Azmorigan before, as I know. But the boy spoke of you. He said you would all be coming to collect him." her expression darkened for a moment. " He is very brave."

" _Ol_ gkru." nodded the second.

Hera smiled thinly. "Strong willed? That sounds like Ezra."

Kanan felt conflicted. They had been so close to catching up, and now Ezra was headed for some gladiators pit, forced to fight for his very survival. He felt the migraine coming, like a slowly building pressure.  
He needed to lie down or meditate. He was exhausted. His muscles ached from being rigid for almost two days straight.

"I'll be in my cabin if you need me," he said shortly.

Sabine and Zeb said nothing as he left, but Hera reached out and touched his hands as he passed. He withdrew it, wanting only to be alone. The Twi'lek women averted her eyes in apology as he slipped past.

The shorter of the two newcomers suddenly came forward and wrapped a hand around Kanan's, and in a soft voice asked, " _Akei_?"

At a loss, Kanan looked to Hera and Sabine.  
Sabine looked away, her expression unreadable. Hera looked surprised, but not embarrassed like before, and then she smiled very softly, dipped her lekku, and nodded in assertion. "Akei."

The Twi'lek woman closed her eyes as if she were in pain, clutching Kanan's hand to her chest and then released him with a sad smile.

The two women peeled away without another word, heading back towards the passenger area.

Kanan wanted to ask, but his head gave an almighty throb and he decided he didn't care to know. He walked on without another words, rounding the corner and reaching for the ladder.

"What was that about?" Zeb grumbled, his voice low.

Sabine and Hera hesitated, and the long silence gave Kanan pause long enough that heard Sabine answer softly.

"She... asked if Ezra was Kanan's son."

No one spoke again, or at least Kanan didn't hear if they did, as he pushed himself up the ladder and headed for his cabin.

The hatch pulled closed with a hiss, shutting him in the dark. Kanan stood where he was, barely in the doorway for some time, just staring into the shadows.

Ezra _wasn't_ Kanan's son. He was his _Padawan_ , the differences were milestones apart. Whole galaxies. The two were as far apart form one another, as he and Ezra were right now.

But then why did his heart ache like this, a deep and frightened flutter in his chest that carried a flood of awful memories with it?

His skull was pulsating, a thick heavy pressure pushing down on his chest. Kanan tried to suck in an even breath, intending to release it after a meditative pause. Instead, he choked on it, and the breath broke free as a strangled sob.

No. he couldn't break down, not here, not now.

Ezra was counting on them, on Kanan. He was trusting that his Master would come for him, and Kanan would.

Kanan moved to the center of the room, and folded his knees underneath him. He had come here intending to escape, and possibly to sleep. But now he felt very much awake, and while his pain was still present, he pushed it aside and focused his energy on the ebb and flow of his center.

His Padawan was alive, and waiting for them somewhere out in the Galaxy.

And Kanan was going to find him.

* * *

My grasp on Twi'lek translation is loose at best- but the dialog conversion from Ryl to Basic is below:

 _Ay'kou_ _\- A word is used to indicate members of a Twi'lek's family that are_ Koccielle _Twi'lek (_ _An honorary member of the clan/family_ _)._

 _Eswo Ka'Nan-_ _Beloved, or exceptionally favored. The name of the individual attached accentuates the meaning._

 _Arni'soyacho-_ _An expression of extreme gratitude;_ _thank you very much_

 _Olgkru_ \- _Strong-willed_

 _Akei-_ _A_ _word was used to indicate an individual who is a son, or male clan/family member._

* * *

 _ **R &R** for good Karma and to buy me lessons in Ryl_


	10. Chapter 10

I am not dead! Again, this is all thanks to UnfathomableFandoms and Meepicheep ~  
 **Trigger Warnings:** there are some uncomfortable scenes in this chapter. Torture of a kind, and some angst character internalization. If the idea of needles make your uncomfortable, this is the best I can do to warn you.  
Please enjoy!

 **The Survival Trials**

Chapter 10

* * *

Ezra heard cell doors opening and shutting periodically, and if he figured right, they were taking away the candidates by number. The gaps were roughly an hour long between shuffling footsteps, he judged, but there was no way to tell time in this place. He'd already lost track of how many days it had been. He missed the sky.

It was a shorter wait for five then he'd have liked, but soon the cell beside him slammed shut and the locks clicked loudly in the frame, and he heard movement outside his box. Ezra got to his feet, waiting for the guard on his feet when the door swung open.

It was the same Trainer from before. Ezra followed, and the guard wordlessly guided him away, down the un-mappable corridors to a bare room with a metal chair in the center facing the far wall.

Ezra was nudged forward by a sharp jab in the small of his back from the Trainer's baton.

He moved forward, if only because he didn't feel like objecting. He'd been either on his feet, suspended by his wrists, or laying on cold hard floor for what he thought was almost four days straight. It would be nice to sit down in a chair for a change, even if it had a particularly unnerving appearance.

He sat down with a relieved sigh, but the instant he leaned back, his skin began to crawl. This was _not_ a good chair to be in.

He instinctively tried to stand up, but the microsecond his spine left the back of the chair; he was shoved hard back into the seat and his arms were torn behind him by the Trainer.

"I'm not resisting!" he said quickly.

"Sure Fodder." the Trainer absently replied. His drawl was central, but weirdly accented.

"What happens now?" Ezra asked politely, forcing himself not to pull against the binders around his wrists and arms. The restraints pinched, but didn't hurt as much as the awkward position. His already shoulders began to ache.

The Trainer didn't immediately answer. He focused instead on tightening the straps and taking time to double check each fastening.  
When he was done, he stood up straight, leaning one hand on the back of the chair.  
"You got yer number?"

Ezra blinked, and nodded after a moment, "Number six."

"That's right. Six." The Trainer snorted, a if he'd been reminded of a joke and walked around the side of the chair. He leaned back on his heels, pressing his back to the gritty wall and folded his arms.  
Ezra, turning his neck to turn as far as it could, stared at him. Now that he really looked at the man, he didn't seem as old as his attitude made him appear.

He out of his teens, but not by far. Maybe ten years his senior. His short hair was pale yellow, his bronze skin was pocked with blemish scars and what Ezra thought might have been sunburn.  
Ezra blinked, and the Trainer stared lazily back.

Abruptly, the man jutted his chin, and from one pocket on his belt he pulled a dark brown strip of a silver foil, and popped it into his mouth.

The heady smell of raw tabacc reached Ezra, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Should I be puttin' any bets on you, _Six_?" The Trainer asked, his tone was unimpressed, but his wide mouth quirked up at one corner.

Ezra winced to hear himself be addressed by the single numeral. It felt like the Trainer had said it wrong somehow. But a piece of him perked up at the question.  
"What kind of bets?"

"Bets, gambles," the Trainer shrugged, scrunching the foil into a ball and pocketing it. "You get more bets, the more your rates go up. Your winnings get bigger. There's always a pot on the blaster fodder category."

Ezra frowned. No one had mentioned he was in for a chance to win money. Is that why the Duro's had bought their way in? "My winnings? You mean there's... a _prize_ for making it to the end?"

The Trainer pushed off the wall, limply lifting and dropping his shoulders in a frustrating gesture of nonchalance.

"You didn't think this was all for naught, did you, Six? Of course there's a prize. A ship and enough creds to keep you in the flush till your younglings are old. It's why everyone wants a place in the line up." His voice took on a nasal, condescending tone. "It's why you're so _fortunate_ to be here with us."

Ezra bit his tongue this time, unwilling to rise to the bait.

Smiling wryly as he chewed, the man tilted his head at the boy. "Still, I wouldn't want to put ideas in your head, Six. In your case, it'll be your backer's winnings. You need to be alive to claim, see?"

Ezra twisted his mouth down, and snapped his neck back around, frustrated.

The Trainer snorted, tapping the blunt end of his baton against the boy's shoulder as he passed, headed for the hatchway.

Ezra realized the Trainer was leaving and a rush of anxiety filled him.

"Trainer, sir?" he asked, not ready to be left alone again—not bound to this chair.

"What, Six?" The Trainer asked, sounding bored. Ezra couldn't see him from this angle, so he frowned down at his knees.

"If... I get more bets, if I earn the most, will I get to go free?"

The Trainer huffed, sucked his teeth noisily and tutted, as if Ezra was a child with a listening problem.

"You're blaster fodder, Six. You ain't go'in free, even if you sliced and outlasted every other candidate."

"Then what? " Ezra pressed, this attitude was not a new one, he wasn't deterred. "What if I win?"

The question came out in a rush, because the thought hadn't occurred to him before.

Of course he wasn't going to win.

But, what would happen if he did?

The Trainer didn't immediately answer, but when he spoke, Ezra was surprised to hear a serious edge in his tone.

"Six, if you won, you'd be the first fodder candidate to do it, but you'd still never see daylight again."

"Why?" Ezra demanded, now twisting his neck, trying to find an angle he could get a good look at the guy, to read his face.

"Coz you're _fodder,_ Kid. Ain't you getting this?"

"Not really." Ezra shot back, letting the corner of his mouth pull up in a crooked smirk. "If these...trials are the real deal, then why couldn't I win? If blaster fodder wins; what happens?"

The young man let out a long suffering, but amused sigh. "Then you'd get shelved until the boss wants to show you off. Maybe in another season or an end game…." He trailed off, and then, in a tone too casual and too sure of himself for Ezra's liking, he added, "You are not leaving the tub, Six."

Ezra let this wash over him.

This was the most direct information he'd been given in days but it hardly made sense. Were people really spending credits to watch him be thrown into a slaughter pool? It wasn't that he didn't believe the galaxy was a cess-pit, but this was an insane level of effort and depravity funneled into all of this. The mechanics of this place alone were something bewildering and beyond belief.  
The game makers must be unhinged!

Could this deranged plan really make that much credit to be worth all the trouble? How did they keep this quite from the Empire? Or did they know, and not care?

It wouldn't be the first time the Imps had a hand in underworld games, he mused darkly, thinking back to that eventful arena day on Lothal.  
The thought came attached to several memories, including the unfortunate end of Ezra's pickpocket mentor, Ferpil.

But he also remembered the debacle in the ring. Ezra had come across one of the bookkeepers a few days later, who told him that Borbrig Drob had agreed to throw the fight to Warjack from the beginning. All of course, under the orders of the _infallible_ Imperial Lieutenant Jenkes.

Ezra narrowed his eyes at the blank wall in front of him, frowning. If this place was the money maker he'd been promised was it likely the end of the match was already decided by whoever was in charge?

What was he thinking? Of _c_ _ourse_ this game was rigged.

He saw the diplomatic smile on the Man-in-white's face and he twisted his mouth, feeling suddenly stupid. They'd brought him in because he'd proven he could shake things up, not because they considered him a serious threat and certainly not a threat to their gambles. Who was their frount horse? The Trandoshan? The Massassi?

This place was no different then the lothrat matches or the Carve Up, it was just on a larger, more _depraved_ scale.

Money was business, and business like this Ezra had the barest of chances at understanding.

Could make them change their minds about whoever was already in line to win?

Ezra had been silent for sometime now, and Trainer, thinking the kid was done, finally reached for the door. It swung open with a metallic whine.

"Trainer, Sir?" he called out loudly, his own words bouncing back at him.

Ezra was surprised to hear the Trainer's boots squeak as he stopped short in the doorway. "Yeah, Six?" He was irritated, and Ezra sensed he was out of time. But Ezra still had questions. He picked the one he needed to know most.

"What do I have to do?" Ezra demanded quickly, "To get more bets I mean?"

The Trainer went quiet for a few moments, and Ezra thought he might have finally spoken too candidly. Then the young man made a puckering sound, like he'd been sucking hard on his lips.

"You make them watch you, Six. You make them _like_ you, and then they'll keep you around for a long as your worth watchin'."

The Trainer stepped out and closed the hatch before he could reply, leaving Ezra alone and bound to the chair.

Ezra sat quietly for a moment, and then began to shift in his seat, testing the bindings on his wrists and letting the Trainer's advice melt into his thoughts. How did you make an audience like you?

A hum in the corner startled him and Ezra jerked his head around.

A hygiene droid was descending from a panel in the ceiling.

Ezra eyed the droid warily, as it lowered to his height and began to circle. Photoreceptors zooming in an out as it scrutinized the boy.

Ezra tried to swallow his fear. It was just a droid for kriffin sake, and it wasn't even a torture droid.  
"Uh... Hello." he began awkwardly.

The droid did not answer, but a panel underneath it pulled back and revealed an extendo-arm that ended in a round silver prod, lined with a sharp row of tiny teeth. Ezra straightened, and the hygiene droid hoovered out of view at the back of his head.

"Hey! What are…."

Ezra didn't recognize the noise at first. There was pressure against the back on his neck and he bent forward in surprise. The noise followed the pressure up over his skull and over his left ear.

A curtain of raven dark hair fall to the floor. He cried out in shock and jerked away. The razors sliced a layer of skin off the very top of his ear.

"No! Stop. STOP!" Ezra shouted, struggling vainly against the restraints. He couldn't move his head more then a few centimeters away but it seemed to give the droid enough cause to cease, and the razors shut down..

The droid drew backwards, floating into view and Ezra thought, for just a _second_ , it was listening. That _they_ _,_ whoever they were, were listening.

It was going to be fine.

Then, a jolt of electricity flew down his spine and every nerve flexed in response. He was on fire.

The metal shackled around his wrists conducted the volts and he screamed. Rattling the shackles, he spasmed, rocking the chair in the bolts on the floor. All concious thought fizzled away.

He must have passed out for a few minutes because the next thing Ezra was aware of was the buzzing scrolling over the back of his neck.  
Ezra stared down at his lap. It and the floor at his feet were covered with long dark blue hair. He blinked, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Ezra had lived much of his life focusing on his freedom and the control he had over him own destiny. If he went hungry one night, it was because he had failed to find food, not that someone had decided to take it away. If he took a risk, it was because he wanted to. Ezra's appearance had always been an extension of that control. If he wore his flight suit every damn day, it was because he wanted too, and kriff anyone who thought otherwise.

He'd let Sabine cut his hair a few times before, and once and only once, Hera, who was surprisingly not as skilled with a pair of shears as she was behind the helm of a ship.

But those were trims, a few inches off every now and then. Ezra wasn't vain, by means, but the idea of not having the curtain of blue to shield his face, to help him blend in with the crowds of Lothal, made him feel _exposed_. It felt just plain wrong.

Ezra had never felt more helpless then he did right now. The hum moved over his right ear and only a few shards of hair were falling now. The razor skimmped across his scalp, and Ezra realized that he was almost, if not entirely, bald.

His chest was a burning storm of fear and anxiety. The cold in his bones burned and pushed against the sides of his ribcage. His whole body trembled.  
It felt like he might burst!

He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a hard breath of air.

I can't let them know I'm force sensitive, Ezra thought, struggling to put words before the fury.

Unbidden, Kanan's voice rang in his ears, cutting through the cold shiver that was rattling his spine.

 _"Clear your mind."_

Kanan had spoke, at great length, how the skills learned in meditation would become one of his greatest assets. Ezra could easily draw on the voice of his master, even now, while his jaw ached with pressure, and the pain was lancing through his thoughts. Kanan's voice was quickly taking over the role of his conscious.  
 _"A clear head is a level one, and that is your greatest resource in the heat of battle."_

"So not a lightsaber or a gun turret?" Ezra had replied. He almost winced now, recalling the snark in his tone during such a serious lesson, but his face was scrunched tight in agony.

Kanan hadn't risen to the bait, shaking his head slightly with a small frown. "You need to learn how to dissect your thoughts."

"That sounds messy."

" _In_ a stressful environment," His master continued, heedless of his apprentice's rude comments. "You need to learn how to separate thoughts born from an emotional response, from the one's you calculate based on your situation. When you can think clearly under dire conditions, there is little else that can stop you."

Of course, at the time, Ezra had rolled his eyes behind his teachers back. He understood how important it was to out-think an opponent. And he often exercised his natural skill for antagonizing his adversaries; bullying them into making mistakes, into losing their focus. Ezra knew how to outsmart his enemies.

But that wasn't what Kanan had been trying to teach him; Ezra knew that now.

It wasn't enough to poke holes in your opponent's focus; you needed to ground your own. He needed to learn how to outweigh his feelings with measured logic. He heard Kanan's voice again, and it siphoned away some of the cold.

"That will only come with practice and experience."

Ezra pulled in a deep breath, and forced his expression to relax.

This whole charade...was a test of some sorts, Ezra was sure of it. They were pushing him, if not for _entertaining_ purposes, then to ensure only the hardest candidates took up space in their arena.

This wasn't about forcing him into a haircut; this was just another part of their _game._

All these thoughts flew through Ezra's head at the same rate as his heart, which was beating high in his throat.

No matter how he searched, he kept coming to the same conclusion.  
 _  
They are watching_ _. I_ _f I react now,_ _i_ _t will just bring more attention. If I show even the slightest hint of Force_ _usage_ _, the Imps will be here in hours. They'd use me_ _as bait_ _to find the crew and the rest of the rebellion._

Ezra swallowed, rolling his sandpaper tongue over his teeth.  
All at once, the fight left him and he went limp against his restraints. He fell still, and did not jerk away as the droid returned and sheared the last few hairs from his scalp.  
There was no doubt in him, he would sacrifice whatever he needed to keep his crew safe.

Ezra was very glad to see the droid withdraw the razor after another minute, and gasped in relief, lifting his face and snorting to dislodge the few stray hairs that had settled on the bridge of his nose. His head felt cold.

He hadn't slept in two days. He was tired. He was surprised how much he missed his box.

Another panel on the droid opened up and now brandished a sharp silver pen with a blue liquid on the inside. It came to the side of Ezra's head and pressed down.

A sharp prick made Ezra flinch.

At first he thought they were taking blood. _What a stupid place to inject a needle!_

Then the pen began to whirr and started moving along the left side of his skull, stabbing in short little motions. Increasing the pressure, it forced his head to tilt at an uncomfortable angle.

The noise was a grinder in his ear.

He realized, with a cold jolt, that they were _tattooing_ him.

Ezra sucked in a shaky breath and grit his teeth, the buzz and the ache spread across his skull and bore through the bone, putting his teeth on edge and setting his body into a fit of shivers. It felt like they were drilling into his brain! He hissed as the needle hit a nerve and pain exploded like one of Sabine's miracles. It spread like fire across his temple.

 _"Clear your mind."_

 _Easier said then done when it feels like my skull was being pieced through with a hydraulic drill bit,_ Ezra thought, grinding his teeth. But as soon as the acid remark rose, he pushed it away. That was his anger talking, his emotions. This was... just another test.

Ezra sucked in another shaky breath, and held it for seven beats, and exhaled. This time, he heard his heart rate slowing in his ears and the throb in his temples lessened. Another breath, hold, release. Each breath managed to soften the blow a little as the sharp pen punctured his skin.

His master had spoken once about the different boons of meditation, beyond clarity and inner peace. It could help lower your heart rate, raise the metabolism, and help the body rebuild cells at an accelerated rate, with _practice_ of course.

But one skill he had touched on, but never explained further, was dulling pain receptors. After all, physical pain as just another worldly distraction, one that, _with Practice_ , could be controlled to varying degrees.

 _How_ Ezra wished he'd asked Kanan to teach him that skill, to expand on the footnotes that he'd taken for granted until now.

But, he thought, if it was just another level of meditative state, surely he could learn it eventually. If he focused, and put all his effort into his breathing. He just needed... to practice.

So Ezra, sucked in another slow breath and gently pushed back against the needle, no longer struggling out of reach. Straightening his neck, so at the very least his neck stopped throbbing. The sting of the needle flared for a few minutes, and then, returned to a sharp ache.

The droid was not fazed by his wriggling. It readjusted as he moved and the needle continued to buzz across the skull in horizontal lines, like a data-strip print.

He tried to follow the direction of the pen, attempting to build an image of the tattoo in his mind. But the pain was too wide spread to tell. What the _kriff_ were they writing into the side of his head?

Ezra continued to breathe, putting all his focus on the count between inhales and exhales and the stretch of his rib cage.

It took thirty minutes for the tattoo to be competed. Then, it was sprayed with a fine mist of something that stung his nose. It must have been an antiseptic, because a sharp hot sting bloomed across the left side of his skull. Ezra hissed through his teeth and sucked in thin breaths through his nose.

The needles hummed as the droid withdrew them, and just as Ezra relaxed his aching jaw and let out a groan of relief; the bot circled around to the other side of his skull and began the process all over again.

Ezra did his very best not to scream, or make any noise beyond the occasional frustrated groan. He focused on counting the seconds between sucks of oxygen, slowing the count and drawing out his steady sigh as long as possible.

But he could do nothing about the tears that began pouring silently down his cheeks.

Forty minute later, Ezra found himself standing outside the door to his box.

His head ached, and throbbed and stung all at once. He felt dizzy, dehydrated and worn down to the core.

The Trainer hadn't struck up any menial conversation on the trip back, and Ezra had reveled in the silence. His ears still buzzed and he occasionally had to shake himself awake, to keep on his feet.

He just wanted to lie down.

The hatch to his box was opened and Ezra slipped in without waiting for the jab of the baton. The hatch closed behind him with an empty click-hiss.

And finally, he felt safe again.

Of course, Ezra knew, he wasn't safe. But they would likely leave him alone for a few hours now. They had a lot of candidates to mark after all. He wondered if they were all receiving the same treatment.

He reached up a hand, but the heat he could feel coming off his scalp gave him second thoughts. He wondered what it was. Perhaps they'd given him an identification tag, or maybe they'd just slapped on the holonet channel logo.

He circled his box, feeling disoriented. He trailed his fingertips against the rough walls before pressing his back against it, and slowly slid down to the floor. He curled his knees under him, and then lay down on his side.  
He let his head touch the floor, and jerked back with a hiss as the tender inked flesh touched the cold gritty floor.

"Guess I wont be sleeping on my side for a while", he muttered, rolling onto his back and carefully resetting the back of his head against his folded arms.  
It felt... weird, not to have hair. Weird, and wrong. His skull, which he'd always thought was round, he now found was narrower and bumpier then he'd realized and his scalp was flecked with a few tiny cuts where the razor had cut too close.

He wondered if he looked like a freak now. What would Sabine think of his misshapen head? What would she think of his new ill gotten ink? What would Kanan say?  
Ezra absently ran a finger across the sticky oil that was still clinging to his cheek. It had mostly caked and fallen away, but the residue left behind was still thick enough to cover his scars.

 _What will happen if they wash me?_ Ezra asked himself, now certain they would see the lightsaber scars without his dark mop to hide behind. It wouldn't

Bolts echoed in the walls, and Ezra sat up a little, lifting his heavy head. He suddenly remembering who's turn it would be now, and his gut shifted guiltily.

He didn't know how Xexto flesh took to tattooing, but he hoped for the kid's sake it would be easier on him then it had been for Ezra. At least they wouldn't have to shave him.

He heard the movement in the hallway, but the relief of sleep was starting to take hold and he spared no more effort on forcing his eyes open.

* * *

 **R &R** To inspire the author into throwing Ezra into the ring...


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Hello All. I'm sorry I disappeared, such is life. But a few particular recent reviews spurred me into posting this asap and as always the support of my beta's is invaluable. _Thank you!_ Please know I read and cherish all your feedback, as this chapter is proof and the next chapter is not very far behind~

 **The Survival Trials**

Chapter 11

* * *

The rain was pouring over the city districts on the planet Khalos. Washing and spilling off the buildings. Filling the back alleys and walkways and curtaining the bustling city strips with a grey wash, blurring the neon city lights.

Three speeder bikes dodged the main-lane traffic, taking the corner on a sharp turn. They pulled down a side alley and came to a stop. Wordlessly, the riders dismounted and pushed the bikes behind a disposal unit, hunching their cloaked shoulders against the rainfall.

One rider, a tall man, pulled away, "Lets get moving." He commanded, and the other riders gave a single, serious, nod.

They walked quickly through the streets, avoiding pedestrians in their path. Almost eight blocks from the alleyway where they'd parked, the leader stopped short at an unassuming street corner and shot down the backstreet. There were no bright neon lights on this street, no pleasure houses or loud bars, nothing to draw any attention.

No city ever truly shuts down, but unlike the main strip all the businesses on this steet were closed and no pedestrians walked the paths. It was quiet, almost residential in feel despite the blackened windows and hovering advert screens that plugged currency exchanges, galaxy-wide banking transfers, and inter-species modeling services.

Kanan studied the businesses, watched for the dimly flashing module numbers on each door panel and came to a halt in front of a non-descript un-numbered door midway to the next block. It was battle cruiser grey, blank of any memorable features, set into the ferro-crete like it was a utility access hatch. He looked over his shoulder and nodded to his companions: it was time to go to work.

Kanan lifted a fist, knocked twice and waited.

A slit opened in the door. "I'm on the hunt." Kanan drawled without waiting to be asked.

"You got credits?" Asked a narrow pair of humanoid eyes. Kanan held up his credit pouch in answer, the eyes nodded and stepped aside. The steellum door swung inwards and allowed them admittance.

Kanan, Zeb, and Sabine filed down a narrow staircase built into the wall. The bar was much busier then any had expected and the crowded air put a foul taste in Kanan's mouth. He scanned the room as he reached the ground floor. All the patrons appeared to be cut throats, bounty hunters, or people with a lot of low gotten money to flash.

He located the bar built into the far wall and, while avoiding eye contact and marched a slice straight through the crowd.

Azmorigan had been very clear, upon Hera's instance, on how to find the right bar. Appearance was everything. Sabine had changed into an older, duller set of armour and Kanan had donned an old dark cloak. Paired with Zeb's vicious Bo rifle strapped to his back and his nasty sneer, they looked more like mercenaries then the usual colourful rebels. Kanan stopped at the bar and tapped a fist against the counter, calling the bartender. The bartender was an impressive sized Feorin. He nodded, showing he would be available in his own time.

There had been much discussion about how to infiltrate the Hunt base. But it was finally decided that Zeb would pose as a late candidate addition, supped by Kanan and his bodyguard Sabine. Hera and Chopper would wait, airborne and supervise the airwaves. If they could not get Ezra _o_ _ut_ before he went _i_ _n_ , at least Zeb would be on the inside with him. It would mean one less man on the outside to orchestrate their rescue, but if they had a choice, they would have all gone in to fight alongside their crew mate.

It was bitter bacta to swallow for Kanan. The discussion kept cycling back to: "Yes but he's _my_ P _adawan_."  
Hera and Ahsoka were hard put, but explained, for the eighth time, why Kanan needed to help from the outside instead of going in undercover: Kanan was too well known by the Empire, Kanan needed to lead their rescue, a human was less interesting to watch then a Lasat.

"Yes," Kanan admitted, in a tight voice. "But, _I_ should still be in there!"

Ahsoka frowned, but her eyes were soft. "You can't help him from the inside nearly as effectively as on the outside. We need you here, to help locate him. To guide us."

He snorted furiously, pacing the room.

Hera sat back and crossed her arms. Her gaze an unspoken challenge.

Kanan came to a sudden stop, clearly unhappy, but finally admitting they were right.

"Fine. Then let's get moving. We don't have time to waste." He straightened and gave one curt not to Ahsoka, then turned on his heel to stalk from the room.

He'd emerged from his cabin after several hours, and demanded they get to work. Sabine just huffed. She had already begun work on several prototypes designed to bust in or out of prison structures. Zeb and Chopper had sourced and powered up some rather severe upgrades to the Ghosts defense systems and upped the power on the front guns. Hera, and Kanan debated the entire hyperspace jump the finer points of their plan. It had all lead them here, to what the crew hoped would be the first stop on the mission to recover Ezra.

The Feeorin bartender arrived and he looked at them down his snout, "What's your poison?"

Kanan pushed a large numbered credit stack across the counter. "Who can I talk to about adding a late candidate?" he nodded over his shoulder, where the Lasat stood at fierce attention.

The bartender looked Zeb over and then up at the holo-screens above his head. "The line up has already been decided. Your just in time to see the final candidate call."

Kanan felt his heart constrict. _Too late?_ The bartender went to serve another customer. Kanan reached out and gripped his arm, not tight, but firmly holding him back. The Feeorin looked down at the hand and then up into Kanan's face, his own none too happy.

"I was told the line up would not be decided for another week." Kanan insisted. "Surely there is _Someone_ I can speak too."

"I don't who you spoke to, but the line up was decided a few days ago." The bartender nodded at the holo-screens and Kanan's eyes followed. "I think you should accept that your fighter- will not be in this round and recall your bets."

Kanan looked up to the holoscreen. It showed a revolving crest shaped like two black daggers crossing in the centre of a ring with the words: _Only one will survive_. But as he watched. The logo disappeared, and the screen went dark.

The bartender removed Kanan's hand and snorted. "Looks like you're just in time to see the opening credits. Now, order a drink or place bet because this bar is for _investing_ customers only."

Kanan snapped his gaze back, his bones burning, just as Sabine stepped up and noisily slapped another pallet of credit tokens on the bar.

"We'll start a tab." She shot back. "Spiced Pulkay—three rounds." If the bartender cared that the voice under the Mandalorians helmet sounded young, he didn't show it. Instead he nodded and moved away to source the bottle.

Kanan unhooked his fingers from the edge of the bar, turned and swept his eyes over the room. The lighting was kept to a bare minimum, a dark amber glow that put everyone's face into shadow and in some corners hookah pipes and cigars made the air too thick to see through. Species from every planet crowded at the tables and screens, an urgent bustle filled the space. With each passing second the crowds murmur grew quieter. Kanan followed the eye line of those faces he could easily see and found everyone was watching the screens littered on every available wall surface. The air in the room was simmering with anticipation.

 _No._

The bartender returned, and shelled out the drinks with a stoney glare and disappeared down the other end of the bar. The glassware clacked against the stone surface and Kanan took a glass. Feeling the chill against his fingers. He stared into the drink, ice melting in the viscous liquor. His mind a battlefield.

"We're too late." he murmured, the horror dawning over him.

Sabine jerked around and Zeb stiffened beside him.

"Kanan?" she breathed, her grip slackened on her glass.

"You... know? For sure?" Zeb demanded suddenly, his voice growing in volume.

Kanan felt their shock pulling them away, and realized his mistake.

"No! Not... Not that." He choked out, nearly dropping his drink. Patrons at the two tables next to them side-eyed the trio.

Zeb leaned against the bar, slowly deflating. "A little more clarity then next time, would you?" He shook his big head and took a long swig of his whiskey.

Sabine leaned back against the bar, inclining her head towards the jedi. "What did you mean then?" her voice was sharp.

Kanan saw they still had an audience-a pair of large Duros and an Uganaught seated not far away. Pushing off the bar, he cut a path through the bodies to a small round table in the back, knowing his crew would follow without needing to be told.

The pressure in the air was still rising; drinks orders were being made in bulk; and the general displacement of the bar crowd was starting to funnel towards the holo-screens. Kanan navigated the room, never once peeling his eyes off the vid display and its empty grey portals. He sank down in a chair and took his first long sip of his drink as Sabine and Zeb sat down on either side.

"The Trials." Kanan hissed over the lip of his glass. "Something is about to happen."

Zeb whipped his Bo-rifle over his shoulder, a move which conveniently made the few stragglers standing nearby put another foot between the crew's table to avoid being struck. "I thought this crowd seemed a bit edgy for a weeknight brawl."

Sabine settled her shoulders and rolled the full glass in her hands. "What's our new time frame then?" As if on cue, the dim amber lighting filling the bar went out, and the holo-screens along the walls lit up. Every face and feature became visible under the white blue glare, and every eye snapped towards the light source.

The holo-screen faded to black again, and the emblem of the Hunt, two crossed daggers, returned. A swell of drums and blow horns rose up from the speakers and the bar crowed ceased to speak.

A Nikto appeared on screen, dressed in a tight black suit. He wasn't large for his species, but sat quietly on a steelum bench, watching the camera droid circle him through narrow calculating eyes. The audience couldn't see where the Nikto was from the angle, the walls were bare of any defining features. The camera droid pulled out, and a computerized voice began speaking as if it were reading lines of code. " _Number one, Nikto. Threat level, Beta_ _._ _Survival skills: category One."_

The image of the Nikto vanished, replaced with a Rodian with a crooked antenna. He turned his head and the crew now saw the two thick lines that read 'two' in Aubresh. " _Number Two..."_

The voice continued to count down, numbering and assigning classes to each candidate as they flashed on the screens. The rodian was followed by a Shimshaf, a Narrl, and an insectoid creature that was given no species title, instead labeled as 'un-classed'. They all wore black jumpsuits and if they had feet, a pair of boots, but they had no weapons or accessories except the thick slave collar sized for each neck. They were all numbered with a blocky tattoo.

It became hard to hear the holo-screens over the throng of voices that were slowlly building in the bar. Kanan saw several making notes and speaking with hushed voices into comlinks. They were getting organized, but for what? Was this an early announcement of the Trials?

An skinny Aqualish approached the table.

"I see you have already finished your first round," he spoke fast, clearly ignoring Sabine's full glass in favor of glancing at the screens. "Can I get you another round before the Review ends?"

"The _Review_?" Sabine repeated, probably not meaning to sound so sharp.

 _"Number five..."_ Number five appeared on the screen, a wide set Gran with dark orange skin. He flexed for the camera droid and growled menacingly into the barrel. " _Gran. Threat level, Beta. Survival skills.. ."_

"What is this?" Sabine hissed, swinging her hand between the screens.

"The selection. The final candidates. They were ready a whole week early!" The Aqualish turned away pointing at the nearest holo-screen, both annoyed he had to explain and yet clearly way too excited to be serving.

 _"Number Six."_

The next candidate was human. He was much thinner and shorter then the first five, in fact it was clearly a boy, not a man. He was dressed the same as the others but his face was turned away.

His head was completely shaved and a blocky blue number Aubresh six was tattooed into the sides of his skull.

It took half a beat for the recognition to hit home. Even then, it was only after the figure turned and bared the right side of his face showing two whisker streak burns across his cheekbone and pining big electric blue eyes on the camera barrel. Kanan felt his eyes widen and his grasp on the world siphon away. The boy blinked, and as blue eyes turned to face the camera straight on, he scowled viciously and flicked them away. A sleek black collar bounced on his collarbone.

Kanan knew that scowl. He knew those eyes.

Number _Six_ was Ezra.

Kanan felt Zeb tense next to him. Sabine fisted her fingers into his sleeve, and he realized he was literally _shaking_ with fury.

Sabine quickly turned and gave the Aqualish a wave, "Yes, refills." He moved off with a nod.

 _"Human. Threat level: Delta."_ the voice-over informed them. _"Bare handed combat, short range fire and single blade. Survival skills, category 4."_

The image of Ezra disappeared and Kanan felt his heart sink. The holo-display was replaced by a skinny Xexto boy that looked even younger the Ezra. These children were expected to fight their way through this? This was _Madness._

A cheer went up from the table next to them. "Bringing out the Fodder early in the set, aren't they?" The heavily armed duro was pointing at the screen. His friend punched him lightly in the arm. "Don't get attached, Dreg. I've got 4 creds on the Fodder going down at the drop in."

Kanan felt his blood run cold. _Fodder?..._ Fodder for what?

 _"Number seven. Xexto. Threat level: Omega-"_

Zeb growled viciously. "What are we going to do, Kanan?"

Kanan didn't answer, still struggling to draw in a single steady breath. He'd known Ezra was going to be a candidate, he knew the boy was going to suffer some hard treatment before they could get to him, but this?

"At least we know he's still alive." Sabine put in quietly, her tone flat.

 _"Number Eight. Trandoshan."_ A cheer went through the bar crowd.

All three heads whipped back up to the screens and took in the holo-screen image of a large Trandoshan with a thick scar running down one side of his jaw. His yellow slitted eyes were narrowed. Something about the gleam in those eyes set Kanan's teeth on edge. Even without the Force, he knew Sabine and Zeb has sensed it too, as both set their shoulders back and made fists of their hands.

 _"Threat level: Alpha..."_

"Not for long." Zeb muttered with a hard wince.

"We need a new plan Kanan." Sabine turned back to the jedi.

Kanan closed his eyes and looked away from the screens, trying to block out the noise and the eerie chill that was picking his nerves. He needed to focus, he needed to think. "We need to find out when the candidates go in, we should establish how much time we have. Then we need to find out the location."

"Too late." Zeb breathed, "I don't think this was just a preview. The betting pools are open." He pointed to the bar where the Feeorin was accepting a small case of credits from an Ugnaughts and tallying the bet in a data-reader. He nodded absently and handed the Ugnaught a slip of film-plast.

"You mean it's starting now?" Sabine hissed, horror clear in her voice. She must've been louder then they realized as the two Duro's at the table beside them stopped talking to look at them.

Zeb slung a heavy arm over the girl, a faux display of ownership but in reality a gesture of comfort. He nodded his head, eyeing the duros, and they turned away.

"Reel it in, Spectre five." Kanan demanded in a low voice.

"The kid will be okay. He's as slippery as a droid in an oil bath." Zeb added in a soft tone. She didn't reply, eyes turned to the screen.

The bar continued to buzz quietly as the automated voice read off the remaining candidates, applying stat's and betting odds. Kanan ignored the numbers and classes, instead keeping track of the candidates themselves.

The candidates were only visible for a short time, a rotation of the camera and then a single long shot. Almost all the candidates flexed or glared menacingly into the camera. But there were only a two that sent a ghost of warning down Kanan's spine like the announcement of the Trandoshan had.

The first was a Dug, labeled as candidate fourteen. His long snout was twisted in a sneer and he cracked his long front toes as the camera droid circled. He was assigned as an alpha level threat.

The second was candidate eighteen: a huge Massassi that nearly filled the small frame of the vid. Even though the holo-screens gave everything a blue haze, his skin was clearly the colour of fresh blood. His large head was bowed as the camera droid circled, he had the air of a warrior before a battle and Kanan reflexively found himself reaching for his lightsaber. It was no surprise the Massassi was classed the highest level threat of all the candidates.

The rest of the line up was a flood of faces, teeth, and talons, but the force didn't zero in on any of the others. The last candidate was one more humanoid, a pale thin man who rocked on his heels and was given the lowest scores of all. The bar was hum of activity towards the end, data readers and credit transfer cards began to appear on the tables and the air took on a darker tone. And then the worst happened, the bar went quiet.

The screens began to slowly lighten from black to a blinding white. The spinning dagger logo returned and a male baritone voice began to speak.

"Greetings, and welcome to the eleventh round Survivalist Trials. I am, the Master of Ceremony."

A general cheer of appreciation went up through the crowd and a few drinks were toasted.

"As you have seen, this season's candidate selection is high caliber, as this has been our most successful batch of applicants yet."

The disembodied voice was smooth, deep and completely charming. While no one else in the room had much of a reaction, the tone of those words brought something to the forefront of Kanan's mind. A familiarity that made him uneasy.

But there was no time to dwell on it, as the voice continued speaking, the screens began to change.

"The feed is live. As always, all preliminary transactions must be completed from three minutes from now. All gambles are final until the next betting round begins..."

At the words, there was a bustle of activity at the bar as patrons rushed the counter to complete their bets.

The crew's attention was instead focused on the holoscreens.

The logo remained superimposed, but the whiteness had lifted and was now scanning across a strange collection on treetops that stretched far into the horizon.  
It was no planet Kaman was familiar with. There was a mixture of colours and flora species and even seasons. Gold and green leaves growing beside red and purple thorns. A branch with bright lilac flowers brush against a tall wilting fungus tree.  
The sky was bare of any visible solar bodies that might help identify the location.

Then the camdroid turned the barrel downward and a wide circular clearing came into focus. The center of the clearing was a steep sunken pit, filled with a pile of crates. Twenty feet out another perfect circle of small silver dots glinted in the light. Even as they watched, the camdroid moved inwards, and the glare moved off the odd circles...

"They're platforms." Sabine muttered "Kanan, there's twenty four of them. This is the _ring_!"'

Kanan didn't reply, trying instead to focus on the Master of Ceremony's voice.

"...All methods of combat will be accepted. No support capsules will be released in the first twenty four hours. The next betting round will commence in twelve hours."

The cam was circling clearing lazily, showing a clear image of the elevator platforms and several times zooming in for a clear shot of the sunken pit.

The light reflected off a criterion and now the crew saw the weapons littered throughout the sunken hole. Blades, spears, blasters... The sight tossed the crews stomachs.

"All bets are now closed. Now, it is time to welcome our brave candidates."

Another cheer went up through the bar, which only rose in volume. The silver platforms hissed as the top panels split apart. In unison, the candidates ascended from the ground, all facing towards the center.

The camdroid was still too far away to identify the candidates' positions beyond the obvious few, but they all seemed to be lifting their hands to shield their eyes from the light, or swinging their heads around to inspect their surroundings. The crew scanned the circlar lineup as the cam rotated around, and There. Sabine involuntarily clutched at the table as a flash of the boy appered on screen. He was standing upright, but his eyes were focused on something beyond the camera. Then he was out of sight. All the candodates bar a few were twisting around, jittery and clearly trying to prepare themselves.

"Kanan..." Zeb began, but had nothing to follow it with. They all knew what he wanted to ask.

Was this really it? Were they about to watch their crew member die, on screen, for _entertainment_? Kanan didn't have the words or the time to respond. A static crackle echoed from the speakers, and judging by the way the candidates jolted, they had heard it too.

"Welcome Candidates." The Master greeted, his tone affable. Kanan clutched the edge of the table, the throb of blood in his ears almost drowing out the words.

"The Trials will begin at completion of the countdown. The Trials will end when only one Candidate is left standing alive. All methods of elimination will be accaptable."

A loud tone echoed across the clearing, signaling the beginning of the coutndown and a computerrized voice annouched the timelimit.

" _Sixty seconds."_

"Good Hunting."

The countdown was shortest minute of Kanan's life.

Kanan stared, eyes flicking between the candidates, trying to keep sight of Ezra. The camera feed kept changing, focusing on the 'star' candidates. But suddenly, at the seventeen second point, the feed stilled and focused on the Dug, who Ezra was standing beside just inside the frame of the camera.

Kanan drank in the image of his Padawan. The boy was changed, there was no argument about that, but it was more then just a haircuts and some ink. The hard line of his jaw was something Kanan had not seen since they first picked him up on Lothal almost a lifetime ago.

"No." Sabine breathed quietly.

Kanan now saw what she had, half a moment before him as the footage pulled out to view the circular formation from above. Kanan focused on Ezra again, and now yes, he could see the slight lean on his front foot, the coiled spring in his heel waiting to burst.

The countdown reached 10.

"No, you fool." Sabine hissed under her breath.

"Run away from it, _not into it,_ you idiot!" Zeb landed his fists heavily on the table.

Kanan heard his own voice added to the increasing volume in the bar. "Run, Ezra. Run." he breathed. And every part of him willed this, he needed his Padawan to hear him.

The count down reached seven.

Zeb's hands cracked his whiskey glass. Sabine stood up to watch, squeezing both Zeb and Kanan's shoulders.

Six, five…

The bar got louder,and Kanan tore his glaze away from the screen and shut his eyes.

Four.

He reached out in panic, melting his consciousness into the fabric of the universe. Awareness seeping into the strands of the force that connected every dust-mote, every microscopic individual speck of life...

Three.

Kanan opened his mind and sharpened his senses and searched for one particular star in the galaxy.

Two.

 _Ezra_ , Kanan thought. _Ezra where are you?_ The thought echoed back to him, rebounding off the universe but bringing back nothing that resembled the brilliant blue spark that was his Padawan .

Sabine's hand on Kanan's shoulder tightened, but he barley felt it. _Ezra_. He thought, casting the order into the depths of the universe, praying they would reach the boy in time.

 _Run._

One.

* * *

 **R &R** For good Karma and to wish Ezra luck; he's going to need it.


	12. Chapter 12

AN: firstly I would like to thank all the reviewers and artist that have been so supportive. I cannot believe the quality of the stuff you guys have put out just to show me how much you've been enjoying the story. I intend to post links to the images that accommodate the chapters, but to do so I will need to repose the chapters which I unfortunately don't have time to do right now. Please check out my authors page for three incredible images!

A Big Thank you to my Beta's Unfathomablefandoms and Meepicheep who push me to do better in all my writing and without whom this story wouldn't have gotten even this far.  
A hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season!

Chapter 12  
 **The Survival Trials**

* * *

It had been an eventful few days. Exactly how many, Ezra wasn't sure. There were no chronometers or sunlight to judge time, but after a long period of light, the filament set high in the wall would blink out and plunge the cell into darkness for several hours.

The sudden lack of light left spots on his vision, but the darkness was a welcome change to his tired eyes, and sleep came easier than expected.

Every day here had been exactly the same.

The Trainers fed him twice between the blackouts, a thick pasty porridge made of protein powder served in a shallow dish. He got water three times a light cycle and was given a fresh steel bucket to use however he saw fit before the end of the light cycle.

But that was all the interaction he got. Beyond the occasional scrape of the metal door slot or muted footsteps in the hallway, Ezra hadn't heard proof of life outside his cell for days.

He was unsure how long he'd slept after the tattoo session, but when he woke, the sharp pain had faded. Now it was only a dull throb that flared in time with the pounding in his head. It was bearable, lessening every day.

He was certain he hadn't heard any other candidates being pulled since the final call so he figured the lack of interest was a good sign. He spent his time doing what small exercise he could in the limited space, resting, and meditating.

There had been no answering pulls on the strings of the universe as Ezra sought his Master's presence, but that was no reason to give up. Ezra knew Kanan would be looking for him, all he needed to do was to be ready when his Master's answer came.

On the fourth artificial day in his solitary cube, Ezra's resolve was still strong, but he had to admit some disappointment, if only to himself, that the Crew was taking their time to find him. There was no way Azmorigan of all people could have gotten the jump on them. They were on his tail surely, but further behind then he'd hoped. If the Crew could infiltrate a star destroyer, some gambling den shouldn't be a problem, right?

But, if Ezra was honest with himself, he had to admit, he'd encountered more trouble trying to escape from here than from all the local lock ups on Lothal and the few imperial detention blocks he had the privilege of visiting since joining the Ghost's crew. For an underground killing club, the Survivalist's were organized, deadly efficient, and well funded to boot. Ezra was begrudgingly impressed.

This did not bode well for his imaginations of what the fighting rings would be like. He wondered if they'd be like the steel lined pits that they used for Loth Rat fights on Lothal. Those were gladiatorial battles, a clear fight to the finish.

But this, clearly, was no simple ring fight.

Shaking his negative thoughts, he focused instead on balancing upside down on his hands, doing push ups against the wall, and listing as many snarky remarks he could come up with that focused on the Crew's poor time management.

A hatch door opened somewhere on the same level and Ezra sat up.

"Dinner time." He spoke just to hear a voice, even if it was his own.

There was a long series of noises. A few barked orders and the occasional metallic thud as a Trainer kicked a door or tapped their batons against the metal. Ezra got up, stretched his legs, arms, and back, then stood by the door. He watched the little panel for movement, listened to the footsteps in the corridor.  
The little panel lifted suddenly, and the metal tray fed through the slot.

Ezra moved, taking the cup and shallow dish off the tray before it could be withdrawn.  
He'd learned on the first day, if you didn't take the food off the tray quick enough, or tried to take the tray itself, you didn't get fed.

The tray disappeared and the panel dropped again.  
Ezra took his food back to his spot against the corner. He took a carefully measured sip from the steel cup and appreciated the feeling of moisture in his mouth before he swallowed and wet his lips.

He put down the cup and turned his attention to the dish. The porridge was as thick and stodgy as usual. He gave it an unenthusiastic stir and left the spoon stuck upright in the middle of the bowl.

Ezra played with the mix for a moment, watching the gruel stick to the utensil, fighting gravity. Despite the food's appearance, his stomach growled.  
"A kids gotta eat." he muttered, and shovelled the spoon into his mouth. By the third spoonful, his eyes were growing heavy. The fourth he swallowed, but had to rest his head against the wall, vaguely forming the thought that something was not right. He never got the next spoonful. The half eaten dish clattered to the floor and he blacked out.

Ezra knew something had changed the moment he cracked one eye open. The light filaments set in the ceiling were too bright. His head felt like it was full off loose wires and the floor was cold and...wet?

It took a moment for Ezra to realize he was not wearing his scratchy jumpsuit. He jerked upright, and slipped flat on his back on the wet floor.

"What?" His hands flew up , and his shoulder deflated as he found the familiar smooth metal still encircling his neck.

A hygiene droid descended from a vent in the wall and without making the usual droid conversation and began to hose Ezra down with a sharp hot stream of water. The pressure was enough to bruise in some places. He squirmed and struggled. There was no where to hide in this room. Soon every inch, e _very inch_ , had been pressure hosed.

The last smears of engine oil we're blasted off his cheek. Ezra chewed on his tongue, his heart in his throat, knowing any moment now the droid would be called off so his face could be inspected.  
They'll see the scars for sure now, he thought. The imps have our faces, they'll be here in minutes.

But the door didn't open and the moment Ezra had been dreading never came.  
The droid whirred up into the ceiling hatch.

His eyes stung where the water had slipped between his eyelids and the soles of his feet felt bruised, not to mention his softer parts, but he had to admit it felt good to be clean again.

The collar chaffed. He didn't know if it was the electrical burn or the constant irritation of the metal, but his skin was red and peeling where the collar rubbed against his neck.

One of the trainers, the skinny one, entered through a door behind him.

"You gonna watch me get dressed?" Ezra demanded, his voice thick with accusation, but defeated because he knew he could do nothing about it.

The Trainer shrugged. "Privacy is a privilege, and slaves don't get those."

Ezra frowned, and stopped himself from snapping back that he had always considered privacy a right, and one he truly valued.

Instead he inspected the pile of clothes and turned his back to the trainer, biting down on the familiar groove in his tongue. He pulled out a pair of navy blue undershorts and a white sleeveless undershirt. He slipped them on, not caring to dry himself first.  
Once he felt he had some modesty he took the towel and carefully scrubbed himself dry. He didn't like to think how the jumpsuit might stick and chaff if he put it on wet.

The jumpsuit was made of a strange rubbery fabric that stretched and flexed as he tested it, but still breathed. It clung comfortably. It felt odd to be clean and fully dressed for the first time in days, and yet he still felt naked without his tools weighing down every pocket.

The thick soled boots were tight and he glanced at the Trainer.

"How long do I have?" he asked, "Before it starts, I mean."

The Trainer shrugged again, but inclined his head towards the door. "You got until number Twenty-four is ready."

How long is a lit fuse?

Ezra had picked up a few things from his time undercover at the Imperial Academy on Lothal. One being that the boots the Empire supplied the young soldiers were hard soled and shoddily made . So when the cadets were issued with their uniforms, they often spent their very first day wearing the shoes down by any means possible until they could be worn comfortably.

So Ezra made sure to spend as long as he dared breaking the boots down, folding them in half and smacking them against the hard durracrete wall. He twisted them from end to end, trying to weaken the stiff soles.

The Trainer watched him silently with something like amusement on his face, and Ezra had to focus on the task and keep his tongue still.

If he wanted to have any chance of surviving this hell, he needed to be able to run. You can't run far in hard boots.

His chest fluttered as he slipped the boots back on, he was filled with anxiety.  
 _Just nerves_ , he told himself _, not fear._ _I just need to focus and stay alive. Follow my training._  
Dodging a bad situation was always something he did best, right?

He put the boots on and bounced on his toes a few times. He was surprised that his efforts had paid off. The boots fit better and he could flex his toes. Maybe he could stand a chance at this.

Ezra sank down onto the bench and stared at his feet, wiggling his toes to keep the soles flexing and trying to focus on his breathing. His heart was hammering in his chest.  
He noted in the back of his mind they hadn't fed him that morning, but it was probably for the best or he'd be throwing it up now anyway.

"Your not as stupid as you look, are you kid?"

Ezra jolted at the conversational address, staring up at the Trainer with surprise. It took him a moment to realize the Trainer had called him Kid. Not Six, not Fodder.

Then he scowled, remembering that this was the humanoid man who'd thrown his dinner on the floor only a few the nights before.

"Well I'm here." he heard himself snap back. "So I can't be too smart either."

The rat faced man actually grinned, baring a row of complete, but yellowed teeth. There was a blip of static on the Trainer's communicator, and he straightened up.

"Ok Six, time to go to work."

Ezra took a deep breath, but found it didn't do anything to calm him so he found his feet and approached the Trainer.

He expected the door to lift and be escorted down the hall but instead the Trainer pointed to the opposite wall where a door sized panel slid open.

Ezra was once again reminded how well funded the Hunt must be, and how that would reflect in the ring.

As Ezra turned and was about to reluctantly pass into the next room, The Trainer stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

Ezra looked up, surprised at the gentle touch.

"A word of advice, Six." The man said, leaning outwards just a little. Away from the microphone in my collar, Ezra realized. "Don't fall for the treasure pit. There's gonna be all sorts of sharp stuff in there, but you just turn around an' run. You hide. But don't be too eager to run, see." he smiled lopsidedly. "The boss doesn't like anyone to get a head start. That wouldn't be _fair_."

Ezra blinked, trying to process why the Trainer would be telling him this. What he could possibly gain, how was he trying to manipulate him. "That's... _helpful_ of you." he said finally, leaning on the words and making it clear he wasn't fooled.

The Trainer grinned again. "You're not like the usual fodder candidates. I think you'll make for a good show."  
Ezra was actually grateful for half a moment, and then the Trainer opened his mouth again. "Besides, if you get blastered in the first twelve hours; I'm going to loose out on my bet. So you make sure to hide until then."

Ezra shrugged off the trainer's hand and lurched through the door, hearing the Trainers laughter behind him. It cut off as the panel in the wall snapped shut, Ezra was back in the dark. The hallway in front of him was longer then he expected, lit only by a thin strip of dim filament, running along either side of the floor.

Ezra slowed. Suddenly he was anxious not to run.

He entered into a another windowless box, but was caught off guard to find he wasn't alone.

There was another human boy in here, dressed in the same black jumpsuit as his, the same shinny boots and shaved head. He looked startled, and tired, and that maybe he was only a couple of years older than Ezra.

Ezra wondered why he hadn't seen this other kid before. Were there other candidates he hadn't seen? The boy looked drawn, guarded and unwilling to talk.

Ezra moved to lift a hand to wave in greeting, he needed all the friends he could get right now, and the boy did the same.

Ezra blinked, and then turned his head slowly to the side.

The boy mimicked him, and on the side of his bald head was a thick blue, backwards, Aurbresh numeric: _Six._

Ezra let out a shaky breath, closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself, and then opened them to inspect his reflection.

The last time he'd seen himself in a mirror was at least seven days ago, in the fresher station on board the Ghost. He's fussed over the colour of his tongue and inspected the inside of his mouth while he brushed his teeth. It never occurred to him he might not see another mirror for sometime.

His face had been familiar then, so familiar that Ezra hadn't noticed things about is face that he saw now.

The shape of his nose looked a lot beakier without his dark hair framing his jaw, but it also made him look older, more serious. His ears stood out, but maybe that was just the shock of seeing the shape of his skull. His eyes looked wide and very blue set in the shadows under his thick brows. Ezra firmed his jaw, watching the muscles in his neck tense and rise. The saber burns across his cheek were hard to pick out in the dim under-lit room, but what were the chances the Trials would be just as poorly lit?

For just a moment, Ezra wondered if it would be a good thing to get the Empire's attention. The crew had gotten him out of worse scrapes with the Imp's before. Would a cell on the star destroyer be safer than the death match he was about to face?

His thoughts were interrupted by a ceiling panel opening.

"Back again?" Ezra asked. This droid was not the hygiene droid. This one was smaller, circular, and hovered mutely just inside the room.

When it didn't move, Ezra un-tensed.  
"Not speaking to me huh?" The droid didn't answer, but after a long pause, it hummed and began to circle the room.

As it turned, an extension arm appeared from the chassis and turned to point at Ezra as the droid moved around him. At the end of the arm was a small glass eye. A small red light began to blink on top.

Ezra felt the muscles of his face construct as heat bloomed in his chest.  
He resolved to stand and scowl until the droid stopped circling him, turning his face away from the cam. On the third rotation it must have reached it's footage target, and withdrew the cam-barrel. Ezra watched it vanish back into the ceiling, through a hatch he noted was too small even for him to attempt.

He turned to look at the tattoo in the mirrored wall. It was a deep, bold blue and sat high behind his ears. The skin around it was raw, and irritated. Standing there, without his usual orange suit or raven hair to soften the blow, Ezra truly didn't recognize himself, and it occurred to him he might never be the same after all this was over.

"Get a grip," he muttered, narrowing his eyes and staring himself down.

It hardened the look of his face. He pursed his lips, trying to relax the tremble in his jaw and watched the change in his reflection. The expression that stared back was resolved. Ezra tried to commit the sensation of tensing his brows and cheeks the right way, making the decision to wear this face as his mask for a long as it took. No one would be putting any bets under his number if they didn't think he could handle himself out there. He needed to play the part.

He wished there was someone around to tell him he stood a chance, someone who believed he could do this.  
But it was just him and his reflection.  
Ezra sucked in a shallow breath, and forced it out his nose as he spoke, meeting his reflection hard in the eye. He had been alone before.

"You made some big promises you gotta live up too. So harden up. I _can_ do this."

Ezra wanted to tell himself, _'They're on their way. Kanan will find me'_. But he didn't dare utter a word about the crew while he wore a portable monitoring station.

 _This is going to be tough, but I've done tough before too,_ he thought.

A red siren light began to flash in the corner of the room and Ezra almost leaped out of his skin. His eyes shot around, looking for an attack.

The walls hissed and the panel at the far end lifted; revealing a transport tube with a transparasteel door.

It was an elevator.

Ezra looked behind him, around him, there was nothing here. The room was completely empty.  
It was just him, and the elevator.

 _I could stay here,_ he thought. _They'll probably fry me, and when they come I'll be sent to the chutes.  
But I won't have to play their game._

He truly considered it, for all of four seconds before he flushed with guilt.

He had promised to stay alive, or to at least try his best. All his work bending over backwards the last few days would have been for nothing. Staying here, he would be giving up before things had even gotten rough.

Ezra sighed, feeling his gut bubble, and moved forward into the elevator. He settled in the centre, eyeing the space around him and thinking about the larger candidates squeezed in a space like this. It was _almost_ enough to make him smile.

The panel hummed to life and shot upwards. He startled, catching is balancing as the floor launched up. The walls through the clear tubing were dark, flashes of filament strips whipped past.

Up ahead, a bright light began to grow.  
His heart hammered in his chest, and he tried to suck in the air rushing at his face. His spine began to rattle.

"Trust yourself." Ezra began slowly "Trust the force." Kanan would say. Ezra breathed great gulping breaths. " I will get through this... if I _follow_ my Training."

He clenched his fists as the elevator shot him into brightness. The light was white hot, and burned spots onto the backs of his eyelids. He narrowed his eyes as they immediately began to water, desperate to keep them open and assess the situation.

The air was stale.  
It tasted cycled, like the oxygen on a small ship that had been air-born for a long time; which immediately confused Ezra as the first thing he was able to see once his eyes stopped watering was a thick tree-line and brilliant sunlight beating down on them.

The platform driving him upwards slowed, and then halted, timed in unison with the rising platforms on either side of him. Ezra craned his neck, trying to take in every detail.

All twenty-four candidates were standing on their own platform. Everyone was dressed similarly to him, but each suit have been given species type alterations. The elevator platforms were arranged in a circle, surrounded by some of the oddest collection of flora Ezra had ever seen. and In the centre of the ring was a large deep steel sided hole set into the meadow floor: the treasure pit.

And it a w _as_ a treasure pit. Even from this distance Ezra could clearly make out a series of vitro-blades, wild looking spears, crates labelled as protein powders, and water skins. Survival would clearly be easier for some than others.

There was a loud buzz inside his collar and it hummed against his throat. Ezra winced, expecting the electric shock to come through at any moment.

When it didn't, Ezra opened his eyes and looked around to the others candidates, who all seemed to be looking for the source of the noise.

Suddenly the back of his collar crackled with static and the deep smooth voice echoed from the back of the collar, as if the speaker was standing right behind Ezra.

Ezra immediately recognised the crisp tone of the Man-in-white. The blunt nubs of hair on the back of his neck pricked and a shudder travelled through his body.

"Welcome Candidates. The Trial will begin at completion of the countdown. The Trials will end when only _one_ Candidate is left standing alive. All methods of elimination are acceptable."

The bile shifted in his empty stomach at the sweetness in the Man's tone. He was condemning them to death, and he was smiling.

There was a long moment of silence, and then an heart-stopping Beep trilled in the air from some unseen source in the sky. Every candidate flinched, or ducked, but the echo was already fading away.

Another tone, and now the collar spoke in a different voice, the computerised voice from the scanner.

"Sixty seconds..."

Ezra swallowed down hard and closed his eyes and looked inwards, trying to focus.

 _Emotion, yet peace._

"Good _Hunting_."

It was several counts before Ezra could breath evenly. The timer was ringing in his ears. He forced himself to withdraw from the haze in his mind, focused it on the reality facing him.

He needed a plan.

The Dug next to him reached out and cracked its feet, balancing to lurch forward. Ezra nearly dry heaved.

 _Ignorance, yet knowledge._ "Focus. Be in the moment." He muttered, shaking his head and trying to get a grip on his panic. He gulped a ragged breath, fisted his hands and tried to focus inward.

 _Passion, yet serenity._

There it was, the force. A tiny tendril hiding in all of his fear. He took another huge breath and willed his heart beat to slow. The glaring light dimmed, the clear tubing started to swim as he began to sense the whole arena, each of the twenty-three other contestants, straining and sweating on their platforms through the eye of the force. The Nikto was bouncing on his booted feet, the Rodian stock still. The Massassi crouched forward, placing his limbs on the forward edge of his platform. The Trandoshan was thinking murder and Ezra's mind flinched back.

 _Chaos, yet harmony._ He found the tiny strand of the force again, his eyes invariably resting on the treasure pit. He wished he had still had the bone knife he had lifted in the first sorting, but it was long gone with the scratchy jump suit and the safely of the Box.

The pit couldn't have been a more obvious honey trap. Yes there were supplies and weapons Ezra desperately needed, but the moment he reached it, every other Candidate would be right alongside. And unlike he, they actually had the strength to lift those heavy things.

No. The trainer, as much as his advice had been for his own gain, wasn't wrong. Ezra was completely set on turning around and running in the opposite direction. Running and hiding, those were skills he had.

He glanced rapidly around, trying to pick a spot that looked like a good path through the trees. There was a rocky outcrop visible just to the left over the tall trees. Maybe he could hole up somewhere high?

The sunlight shifted though there were no visible clouds, something at the top of the pile glinted. Ezra squinted, trying to make the sight clear.

Then he saw the helmet.

 _...Forty four..._

It was perched on a corner of a storage crate at the top of the pile. It was an a design he'd never seen before in a smooth matt grey. The visor was two round blue portals and the mouthpiece looked built to withdraw up into the sides rather then open out like the Trooper's did. The whole piece was slim fit, made to fit around the wearers, ideally, humanoid skull.

Ezra _wanted_ it.

With the sensors and filters built into that mask he was more likely to stay alive if he could see further, in the dark, and move in environments the others could not. He could hide his face. He didn't think it was likely the Empire monitored these feeds, but it was better safe then sorry. It might even alter his voice...

Ezra was a good runner. Much of his youth was spent dodging his way through the markets as he escaped the Trooper patrols or in the early days, a merchant that was quicker to realized the weight of his coin purse was absent. He'd spent whole days exploring the wide grasslands on Lothal on foot before he'd really picked up the skill of lifting speeders.

Ezra's gait was obviously shorter then a lot of the other candidates, one who wouldn't be so intimidated by close quarters with their rivals. But they were bigger, and climbing in and out wouldn't come as natural to them as it did to Ezra. he could be in and out in a flash.  
He could do it, he was sure he could.

 _Stay alive. Stay in one piece. Don't get dead._

All good advice, and all promises Ezra would be putting in jeopardy if he took such a risk...

 _May the force be with you._

Ezra glanced to either to side on him. He was flanked by the Dug, and the Coralian man. The Dug sneered at him and cracked his long front toes. but the Coralian man was simple standing frozen to the spot, pale and seemingly resigned. Ezra scanned the rest of the line up. If he squinted through the heat haze, he could make out the Nikto and Number Seven standing on the far side of the loop. The Xexto was wringing his four hands together, glancing over his shoulders into the patchwork treeline. Good, Ezra thought. At least he's got more sense then I do...

 _...Twenty six..._

Almost directly opposite him, the furtherest away form his spot, the Trandoshan was eyeing off the pit... or was he looking at Ezra?

Number Eight bared his teeth and the way his face twisted Ezra could only describe as grinning manically. Ezra did his best to keep the drop his stomach did out of his expression and glanced away.

This made up his mind. There was clearly going to be no shaking this lizard, the everyday hop-and-stop that fooled a bucket-head, wasn't going to deter a sniffer like his. Ezra was going to need all the help he could get. He needed that helmet, and any weapon he could get his hands on.

He backed up, preparing his body to dive off the small step.

"Fifteen seconds," the computerised voice announced.

This would be like the time there was a mob after Arena Day on Lothal. He didn't need to look to know to the Dug was gearing up to run. He had to beat him off the starting block, or there would be no reaching that pit.

"Six, five…." The droid announcer's computerised voice boomed from the back of his collar.

It would be chaos.

"Four."

Ezra rolled his shoulder and cracked his neck, trying to shift his weight around for optimal push off. Breathing in sharp deep intakes, trying to flood his blood with oxygen.

"Three."

 _Chaos, yet harmony..._ He would do this.

"Two."

His whole body tensed as he leaned forward, focused. On the treasure pit.

"One."

The Trials had begun.

* * *

 **R &R** For good Karma and a Speedy Update


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Hi All. You are all such lovely peeps. I hope you all know I cherish every one of you. Please keep up with all these fabulous reviews. It whats powers me. Is the story moving too slowly? Let me know how these updates are settling with you.  
We have finally hit the arena you guys. Thanks so much for sticking with me all this time!

Thankyou to my wonderful Betas :3

* * *

 **The Survival Trials**

Chapter 13

 _Run_ _!_  
The command echoed from somewhere deep inside and far away at the same time.

Ezra pushed off, and hit the ground mid leap.

Directly across, Number Eight was barreling forward, his wide gait ate the distance with every heavy footfall. The Dug was on his heels, and the Massasi was closing in, but none of them were as small and fast as Ezra.

The edge of the pit rushed up, without slowing, Ezra dove.

He landed on one of the crates halfway down, nearly sailing straight over it, saving himself just in time. He lost precious seconds re-locating the helmet two crates above him. Other candidates were landing in the Pit. Ezra scrambled upwards. Accidentally sending a box of protein packs tumbling down one side. He reached for the helmet.

A familiar tingle crawled up his spine, his fingers twitched and retracted on instinct.

A vibro-blade appeared with a _thunk_ , stuck deep into the crate by his head. Ezra swung around and saw the Massassi at the base of the pile, lifting his thick arms to throw a second knife.

 _Move, Move!_ His brain shouted, and Ezra did. He struggled up over the crate, ripping the vibro-blade out of the wood as he did, vaulting over the box. A second and third _thunk_ told him the knives were only an inch off their mark as he made his narrow escape. There was a roar that echoed off the pit walls and something red spattered across the steelum floor.

Ezra glimpsed a flash of helmet again and threw a hand out, withdrawing it again just in time to avoid a laser shot. He glanced back to see the Nikto had pulled a WAPC blaster out of the pile.  
The shot might have been mis-fire. The Nikto had turned to face down the Trandoshan and the Massassi. With the big game distracting each other, Ezra took his chance.

Snatching the helmet up in the same hand as the vibro-knife, Ezra slithered down the pile and threw himself into the flattened metal wall narrowly dodging the Rodian as he was thrown clear across the pit.

Ezra ducked to avoid being skewered by a falling box of spears and spied a grey and blue backpack leaning against a crate.

"Today must be my lucky day," He muttered, barley hearing his own voice over the sound of the battle close by. Blaster fire was spraying the walls, showering them all with sparks. Someone cried out close by and Ezra had to steel himself from looking.

He snatched the backpack, swung it over his shoulder, and bounded up the pile. One glance told him the Dug was climbing out as well and, yes the Trandoshan and the Nikto were now facing off. The Massassi was tearing into some poor soul with a long jagged rapier. Ezra blinked and saw the pale thin woman laying still, a long silver spear stuck through her middle. Her eyes were open wide but her body was slack and pale.

Ezra was struck, feeling blank with shock, but not for long. The Massasi was coming to his feet and the Nikto had managed to put some distance between the Trandoshan.

The lizard must have felt Ezra's gaze because his snout snapped in Ezra's direction.

Ezra felt his heart skip and he launched himself at the wall in one desperate jump, he latched his fingers onto the edge. Swinging a leg over, he scrambled out of the pit.

The clearing was empty except three slumped bodies and the Graan who was running towards him. He was a good distance away, but Ezra stumbled to his feet and bolted in the opposite direction.

He didn't look to see if the Graan was following, he just ran, flat out, as fast as he could move. His lungs were already burning and his mind itching with fear. But nothing could overshadow the roar of blood in his ears.

The backpack bounced on his back uncomfortably, but all Ezra focused on was staying upright as he neared the treeline. The branches closed on either side, but Ezra kept running, barley dodging uplifted roots.

He kept up this speed for some time, his brain blank of all but a need to put as much distance between himself and the pit as possible. His chest burned.

The trees began to slowly change from large thick tall trunks into low coiled branches with spiny thorns. Mindful not to brush the nasty looking flora, Ezra stumbled to a halt. His knees locked shakily and he puffed breathlessly as he dropped the helmet on the ground as carefully as he had mind to and knelt his hands on his thighs, gasping for breath.

Everything shook, his brain fizzled and his heart was punching against his sternum. But Ezra couldn't resist the trembling smile that spread over his face.

He'd done it. He'd gotten in an out of the Pit, and _survived_. He thought suddenly of the red splatter and how fast everything had been moving. His mind was suddenly reeling again.

It might have been all the running, or the thought of the carnage he'd left behind, or more likely, the adrenalin, but without warning, a bubble of laughter escaped his burning throat. Ezra turned his head upwards, squinting into the sunlight through the oddly coloured leaves and grinned.

"Not bad for blaster fodder, hey?"

There was an unexpected answer. A loud echoing boom that sounded like thunder. He jumped and spun around, bracing for an attack.

There was no one there, but another boom filled the air, followed by another.

One, two... seven in all.

Ezra thought hard, trying to connect the number. He thought of the bodies slumped in the clearing, Numbers Three and Twenty-two in the pit. If the Canon fire counted the candidates that had been... _eliminated_ , then that meant the twenty-four of them had already been cut down to just _seventeen_.

He snatched the helmet, switched it on and shoved it over his head. He instantly felt a weight lifting off his shoulders now that his face was hidden. The crown wasn't as armored as he have liked, but the lack of plating had made additional space for the internal electronics and back up power-drives.

It fit loosely, but with some wiggling he found a way to sit it comfortably in place. A holo-counter appeared in the corner of the visor, telling him exactly how far away he was from the tree directly in front of him. Ezra switched through the settings, there was no communication link, wireless output, or holo-lense capabilities. His heart sank for just a moment.

Still, the specs were impressive. Ezra doubted even Sabine's helmet had these kind of upgrades. It was outfitted with the usual: a targeting viewpoint, night-vision, distance counter, macro-binocular settings. But it also had features Ezra had never seen available to the everyday bucket head: heat sensors, pattern detection, and what he suspected might be a compass.

He turned on the spot, watching the numbers skate across the veiwfinder. The movement made him a little dizzy and he thought about sitting down to rest.

He was about to collapse onto his rump, when an awful shudder shot up his spine. He turned and the visor immediately made itself useful, as the motion sensors scanned the dense forest scape the way he'd come.

Ezra felt his heart constrict when the target system narrowed in and highlighted a flash of dark green scales deep in the shadows of the trees.

The hunter must have sensed he was caught, but this clearly didn't phase him. He walked straight out of the scrub into full sight and faced the boy with a clear smile. His suit was already torn in places across his thick arms, but he didn't appear at all injured from his battles in the Pit. In one claw he held something long, black and hefty. Number Eight parted his scaly lips and breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring.

Ezra threw himself back into motion, pumping his legs through the grass, dodging rocks and clutching the straps of the backpack.

 _Run._

* * *

Kanan's heart was in his throat as the countdown alarm rang out.

The candidates exploded into movement.

Every single fodder entrant ran away from the pit, ran for the tree-line: all except Ezra.

Kanan felt his chest constrict as the cam feed barely registered the boy making a beeline for the pit. Ezra had always been fast, but speed the kid was bolting at even surprised Kanan. The candidates with longer gaits were falling behind as Ezra closed in. If only he'd run in the right _direction_.

Ezra was the first to reach it.

On the other side of the pile, the Trandoshan had landed a handful of seconds after and pulled a black shiney club out of the weapons, turned around and immediately swung it into Niktos chest who landed behind him. The creature went flying into the pit wall, though still alive, picked himself up quickly and made a grab for the shiny WAPC blaster placed conspicuously on a low crate.

The Massassi's landed on his feet with a powerful thud, and reached for the first weapon that came to hand: a set of long handed throwing knives.

He pulled an arm back and turned, to the crews horror, to set his sights on Ezra's back as the boy climbed over the crates and streched his hand out for the peak of the pile. The volume in the bar rose in anticipating gasp...

The next second, Ezra had whipped his hand back just as the knife settled in the wood of a food crate to the audible disappointment of the crowd.

Ezra threw his wide eyes back on the Massasi, glowered, and shot over the pile. A helmet gripped in one hand and the Massassi's knife in the other.

It was bedlam now. The bar crowd cheered. The feed was jumping from candidate to candidate. Numbers Eight, the Transdoshian, was the focus of four separate holo-screens. Kanan whipped his head around, searching for the screen that might be focused on number Six.

He saw a flash of the aubresh tattoo across the room. Shooting to his feet, he shoved his way through the crowd, Zeb widening the way for Sabine to follow.

They watched Ezra flying down the pile, while the rest of the candidates willing to try were reaching the pit edge. Kanan thought he saw Ezra disappear behind a crate, but he wasn't sure. The holo-cams frame was flashing around, trying to capture as much of the bloodshed as possible.

The Massassi made the first kill, and the Trandoshan made the second, Sixteen and Twenty-four were down.  
The Valarian woman died when the Dug thrust a spear into her middle, and the Gotal was shot through the chest with a red laser by the Nikto.

The crowd was suddenly roaring, sentients shifting to mob the different displays to see the slaughter.

"Kanan," Sabine yanked at his arm.

He tore his eyes away from the screen and saw the girl was tapping her wrist com.

He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there was a huge swell in the volume of the crowd, cries of surprise and excitement.

He jerked back around, a knot already dragging his stomach into his boots and saw Ezra. The boy was digging his fingers into the grass and dragging himself on his stomach over the edge of the Pit. Kanan felt a flood of relief, which was quickly siphoned away when the holocam feed focused on the Grann candidate running straight for the boy.

The kid's wide eyes flashed with panic, and then he was on his feet, seconds later, vanishing into the trees.

"Kanan!"

Zeb's hands turned him around and Kanan looked to the Mandolorian girl who was waving her wrist com around.  
"What is it?

"I can't scan the holochannel it's being broadcast from," she hissed. "I think there might be a jammer in the back." She pointed a thumb over her shoulder towards the bar. "If you give me time to get back there..."

Kanan was already nodding, "We'll get you back there, you just I.D. that signal."

Sabine turned without another word, squeezing her way through the crowd.

"I guess we're running interference?" Zeb growled with relish, cracking his knuckles and eyeing the rowdy patrons.

"Try to make look organic." Kanan said, glancing at the holo-screens around the room. None of them were showing Six. "The last thing we need is to warn anyone up top what we're up too."

Zen grumbled his agreement, his gaze sweeping the room. A group in the back were beginning to chant, egging on the candidates in screen. The Nikto was scaling the wall, and avoided certain death by shoving another candidate into the path of the Massasi's throwing knife.  
The table all belted out laughter and Zebs eyes flashed.

Kanan threw a glance towards the bar. The attendants were busy running orders, but the large Feeorin stood back with his thick arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were scanning the room, and now Kanan noticed a panel in the blank wall behind him.  
Sabine had her back to them, her arms folded on top of the bar while she waiting for her opportunity. Kanan frowned, the barkeep likely wouldn't leave his position unless he was forced to.

On the screens, the Dug climb out of the Pit and launched a javelin through the air, bursting through the Graan's chest.

The bar crowd cheered. At the table beside him, a Gotal threw up his fists and groaned with disappointment while his friend clapped him on the back. The Grann slumped to the ground, twitching.

How was this even happening? Kanan couldn't explain it, but even he felt somehow unaffected from the on-screen deaths. They didn't feel... real. The slaughter felt distant somehow. It was an oddly remarkable feat on the organizers' part, the effect left the gamblers feeling completely absolved for their involvement. No wonder the Trials had survived this long in the underground.  
Kanan felt his brow tighten, a bubble of anger rising to the surface. If the Makers were this clever, finding their location would not be easy.

The Pit was nearly empty, all bar the Trandoshan, the Massassi, and an unfortunate Duro that was cowering on the ground.

The Duro abandoned spear as the Massassi turned to face him. He threw up his hands in surrender. "Please, I won't..."

His words were cut short as the Massassi plunged a blade deep into his throat, kicked the body away and then turned to face the Trandoshan: Number Eight.

The tension could be felt in the bar as the two main candidates faced off.

The scaly hands twitched, eyes flashed, and then the Trandoshan snarled and leaped for the wall.

The Massassi didn't pursue him, allowing the reptile to escape. The blood splatter on his snout was barley visible against his red flesh. He turned and began to sort through the chaos of bodies and supplies at his leisure.

As the candidate's departed the pit, the bodies in the bar were starting to circulate as the different screens began to separate the candidate footage. An equal half showed the blood red Massasi, and the Trandoshan. The rest were filtered between the other competitors, but none were focused on Number Six.

Kanan saw the Trandoshan taste the air at the edge of the clearing, his nostrils flaring before he melted into the shadows of patchwork forest. An uncomfortable pressure welled in his chest.  
The atmosphere in the room abated, softening to an excited buzz. More bodies moved towards the bar, and the Feeorin moved to serve the customers waving credits in the air. Sabine was still in position.  
Kanan inclined his head, just an inch and thumbed his blaster under his cloak, though he itched to reach for his light-saber instead.

Zeb's ears flattened in response to the signal, but he pricked them up with effort and moved off through the crowd.

Sabine saw the Lasat move, and put herself into action.

She slapped another credit stack on the counter, silently thankful for the monetary support of Alderannian councilman. An attendant turned at the sound of her money, and approached.

"How does the betting work?" She demanded before he could speak.

He frowned for a moment, then eyed her hefty credit stack and thought better of questioning why she didn't already know.

"You pay for feed time per candidate. The candidates with the most support are the ones that receive the most holo time. You can slot bets on the outcomes, payouts are calculated per prediction. You can also purchase support chutes for the candidate of your choice."

She could send Ezra some help? Supplies maybe? A message? "How much are the chutes?"

He flipped around his bulky datapad and Sabine felt her eyes widen at the price list. A mere handful of fire starters cost nearly three times what she had on her. Further down the list a short range blaster nearly equaled the price of a small gunship.

"I want all of this," she said, pushing the two stacks of credits towards the attendant, "On... Number Six."

The attendant looked as if he was going to question her choice, but had second thoughts and processed the bet. He slid her a thin data chip on the bar in return. A few seconds later, the screen beside her flickered and Ezra appeared.

He was coming to a stop, panting for breath, and then took off running again.

"How do you control what the screens show?" She asked, grudgingly interested in the complexity of the system.

He shrugged, his brow furrowing at her insistent questions. "You pay, I process it. Everything else is processed upstairs."

She could hear a bubble disagreement from the back of the room, she didn't need to turn around to know Zeb had picked a fight.

"How do I collect on bets?"

"Are you making one?" He asked, his expression distracted flickering between the bartender and he ruckus in the back.  
She shook her head, biting down on any remarks she wanted to say about collecting on the lives being lost in the Pit.

"Then you don't need to know." He told her, and moved down the counter.

The attendant spoke to the Feeorin whose eyes flickered briefly in her direction.  
If he had suspicions, he never had a chance to act on them.

There was a loud crash towards the back, and a shout of fury.

The Feeorin wasted no time, vaulting over the counter with a chunky barreled blaster in on hand.

Before he could take aim on the men brawling in the back, a shot from the crowd knocked the blaster out of his hands. The blaster exploded, and the huge barkeep was thrown back onto his own counter, taking down a row of customers.

Sabine didn't stay and watch. Two stun blasts from her pistols and the two attendants were down. Two more took out the security cams overlooking the small cantina door. She slid into the back room, unnoticed.

The rest of the bar had exploded into action. Zeb was having a great deal of fun ducking blaster shots and slamming skulls together, while Kanan sailed over tables picking off the few willing to put up a fight. A large Duro tried to take his head with a wide swipe of a his vibro-blade.  
Kanan ducked, taking the Duro's legs out from under him with a sweeping kick and putting him down with a stun shot.

Between them, Zen and Kanan had put down more then half the cantina. The rest had fled for the door or tipped over tables and taken cover.

They would have easily cleared the room, had the large holoscreen stayed focused on the Dug creeping along the forest floor.  
But the feed had changed, now showing a lone skinny humanoid youngling standing in the center of a clearing of low hanging trees. He was wearing a silver grey helmet with two large blue eye ports…. It was the same helmet they'd seen Ezra grab as he fled the Pit.

The Trandoshan came into focus behind the boy, standing in the shadows of the trees not a yard away.

Ezra hadn't noticed him yet! Kanan felt cold terror close on his heart.

A force threw him sideways into wall, Kanan caught himself and shook the ringing out of his ears. The Feeorin bartender had risen to his feet, but before either one could fire, Zeb broke a bar stool over the barkeeps thick head and brought him too his knees.

The remaining thugs took advantage of his distraction, and began firing on the two upstarts in unison. Zeb and Kanan were forced to take cover behind an upturned table.

"Kriff this!" Zeb growled, and pulled out one of Sabine's little miracles from his belt. He twisted the cap and tossed it to the back of the room.

It went off with a muted boom. The walls shivered, the blaster fire ceased. A siren began to wail on the floor above.

Kanan leapt back out, fiercely searching for a single intact holoscreen.

Only one had survived the blaster fire and the bomb. It hung at a crooked angle where one side had come out the wall above the bar. The feed had continued throughout the brawl uninterrupted, and now the cracked projectors cast broken holofeed onto the dust and smoke hanging in the air.

The surviving screen showed Ezra, running flat out, dodging scrub and rocks. His backpack was bouncing and as he ran the helmet wiggled each time he threw a look over his shoulder.

The Trandoshan was following, but at a steady pace. It looked like the boy should be making distance, but the reptile was on his tail, following at his back like some terrible shadow.  
His slitted eyes were half lidded, and his teeth were bared in a confident grin. Every few paces he lifted his maw and flicked his forked tongue out to taste the air...

Sabine reappeared, clutching her blaster in one hand and a bulky data pad in the other. "I got everything I could grab."

"Time to go!" Zeb joined her at the foot of the stairs, Bo-Rifle raised, prepared to blast his way through any obstacle. The alarm siren was still blaring, making it difficult to hear them shouting his name.

"Kanan!" Sabine yelled, "We have to go now!"

Kanan knew this. The security alarms would be calling in the closest security agency, possibly even a trooper patrol. They needed to leave now, but Ezra...

Kanan flicked his eyes back across the room. Bodies and upturned tables where everywhere, dust was still settling.  
On the holo-screen, Candidate Six was stumbling on his feet, and the holo-cam closed in on his profile. Kanan saw that the boy was trembling, from exhaustion or fear. He scrambled over a rock, fell down, and then was back on his feet.

Several paces back, now closer then before, the Trandoshan appeared in focus. Something black clutched in one claw...

A hand closed on his shoulder, and he turned. It was Zeb, just as frozen in shock as Kanan, his yellow eyes focused on the screen and his grip deathly.

Kanan glanced back and saw Sabine, the data-pad clutched tight to her chest. The visor of her helmet flashed in the holo-screen's light. Apparently all intents of fleeing; forgotten.

If they stayed any longer, they wouldn't be able to leave….

Kanan took one last look at the holo. The kid was already covered in smears of dirt and crushed grass. Kanan was thrown into a memory he had long since left behind him: the fear, the terror. The sensation of being _hunted_.

Anger flooded his veins, but it was quickly followed by a cold realisation.  
 _I cannot help him,_ Kanan reeled, watching the kid stumble on screen. Standing around here would solve nothing. For Ezra's sake, he needed to let his fear for the boy go, and _act._

The thought jarred his senses loose, and he snapped into action. "Come." he commanded, forcing Zeb along with him, turning his back to the screen.

"Kanan…." Sabine began.

"Ezra knows how to stay alive. We need to trust him to do that. We can't help him by standing around watching. We need to act. We need to get out of here."

Sabine regarded him for half a beat, and then straightened as she started into turned to bound up the narrow stairs. Kanan and Zeb followed, but at the foot of the steps Kanan stopped to fired off a single shot at the screen, cracking the glass and cutting the projection. Sabine followed suite, and tossed two small explosives behind the bar.

"The shows over." She muttered.

The walls shook and dust and smoke was flushed through the doorway as the crew made their escape. The sound of alarms fading behind them into the sound of rain and traffic.

* * *

Ezra had tried losing the Trandoshan in the shadows of the trees. But every time he launched out of sight or doubled back to hide, the lizard was never more then a few minutes behind, patiently stalking him down.

They made eye contact a few times that Ezra glanced frantically over his lizard made no attempt to hide himself. Instead he grinned, flicking his tongue between his thin lips and took another heavy step forward.

His tongue! Ezra cursed himself, how could he have been so foolish to forget the Trandoshan's legendary sense of smell.

 _He's known where I've been this whole time. He followed me from the Treasure Pit._

Ezra launched himself over a rock, propelling himself upwards onto the next. The terrain had begun to incline as the space between the trees began to widen and the ground grew rocky; forcing the boy to start climbing. Ezra gasped for air, his legs were jelly and his hands were already grazed. He couldn't keep this up forever.

 _I'm wearing myself out while he follows me at his own pace_ , Ezra realized with a hiss. _I'm doing all the work for him!_ He couldn't keep running. Number Eight wasn't going to give up. He needed to stand his ground.

He climbed a few more feet up and spared another glance back. The lizard was no where in sight, but Ezra wasn't fooled. He kept going up, his muscles straining.

He scrambled over the edge as he reached the top, rolling to his feet. He was standing on a rocky outcrop that jutted out from the trees. One side of the platform was lined with tall stones, and the other opened into a steep gravelly drop.

Ezra stared at the landscape, momentarily forgetting his pursuer in his shock.

He wasn't sure where he was, but he hadn't been expecting the sight that greeted him.  
Ezra wasn't familiar with many alien worlds, he'd seen holos and heard stories, but nothing he's ever heard about made sense of what he saw.

The skyline was a flat patchwork of colour. Trees and thorny spires of every description were laid out in chunks. To his left, the treeline stooped low. The ocular-lense zoomed in and Ezra saw something familier; grassland. Only this patch was purple. Not far away he thought he could make out a circular clearing with a dark center- The pit he realised. It wasn't as far away as he'd thought.  
I've been walking in a big loop. He cursed himself again and craned his neck up to see the sky. It was clear of any clouds and the sun was a single brilliant white orb.

There were no buildings, no starships. Just a stretch of mismatched wildness as far as he could see. But there were also no fences either, he noted. Could it be they'd really give the Candidates run of such a huge distance?

 _Where_ was he? What planet was this? None of this made any sort of sense.

A branch broke to his left and Ezra automatically threw himself to the right. _No!_ his mind jerked in fear.  
At the very last moment Ezra managed to stop himself and change his trajectory, only just avoiding the club that came smashing down on the spot where his foot would have been. But he was unsteady. He tripped, and went rolling towards the open face of the cliff. He came to a stop a foot away from the edge and gasped for air as the world spun around him and his inner ear rotated the opposite way.

Number Eight stepped out from behind the rock, his sharp teeth bared in a twisted grin.

"Usually, little human beasts are bad hunting."

Ezra tried to roll onto his feet, but the slightest shift in his weight sent the loose gravel underneath me sliding. He looked left and right, but both sides of the path ended in high flat slate.

As the Eight took a heavfty step towards him, and now Ezra could see the sides of his skull. The scales looked raw and blankend in what he assumed was the shape on an Aubresh 8. The boy swallowed hard, silently thinking that while his tattoos still ached, at least the Makers hadn't felt the need to _brand_ him.

Eight's toothy grin widened.  
Ezra was cornered.

"Humans are slow and die easy, poor sport to hunt. They have bad hide and stringy meat."The Trandoshan growled, lifting his massive club up with one claw and supporting the rounded end in his other. "But for _you,_ little worm, I will make the exception."

Some far away, very angry and frustrated part of Ezra's brain managed to step in and take over the animal fear controlling him. He scowled, sat upright as much as he dared, and shot out a sarcastic jab.  
"That's good of you. With all the bigger game here, too. I'm honored. Do you always wimp out and tackle the easy pickings first?"

The Trandoshan didn't look surprised, he looked amused, so Ezra pulled out another.

"Is that why your stuck in here? Do you like an easy fight where your prey are already caught for you? Does it make you feel big? Will the other dosh be proud?"

The Trandoshan's eyes narrowed and a low rumble began in his throat. _Okay, so I hit a nerve,_ Ezra thought.

"Maybe it's not that humans taste bad, maybe it's just your ugly race has been stuck eating slops from the swamp for too long." Ezra glanced backwards, looking at what lay down the cliff.

It was higher up then he expected, and there wasn't much below except a steep drop with a few raggedy ledges too small and weak to support him, but certainly big enough to do some damage if he knocked against one.  
He would almost certainly break something if he tried to skate down.

Ezra snapped his attention back on the Trandoshan. "Maybe you just don't know what good food is anymore. _Leatherhead_."

The lizard roared and swung his club.

Ezra rolled, and the club smashed into the ground where his head had been. His left leg went spilling over the edge of the cliff and Ezra dug his fingers into the dirt with a gasp as the gritty surface settled.

Eight took half a step closer, lowering his club letting out a deep rumble of amusement. "I will enjoy picking the meat off your skinny bones." he said firmly. He let the wide round end of the club rest on the dirt, the sound heavy and weighted. Ezra tightened his fingers on the loose gravel, an idea forming in his mind.

"Maybe I will use your _ribs_ to clean my teeth." Eight laughed, a reptilian rumble.

 _Half an inch closer_ , Ezra thought. He swallowed and looked up from the ground.  
"You wouldn't know which end to start with!"

Number Eight growled, heaving the club up over his head once more.

In one panicked flurry of movement, Ezra barreled into the Trandoshan's knees, throwing all his weight towards the edge. _  
_

The Tradoshan had not been expecting a last minute fight, so his stance was unsteady, and his hesitation gave Ezra the time that he needed.

The boy found his feet and with all his might he pushed with both his arms and his will.

 _Go over_. He thought. _Leave me alone!_

The Trandoshan went over the cliff edge slowly, or maybe it just seemed that way.

His thick arms swam in the air as his balance was suddenly compromised. He fell forward, turning as he did and stared, his jaw open in shock. He dropped the club as the weight pulled him further, but the sandy ground had already started to shift under his feet.

Eight's slitted eyes went wide, and then narrowed as they focused on Ezra and blazed with fury.

He roared as he fell away, slipping over the edge, the sound echoing though the canyon.

Ezra leapt back to the edge in time to see the blurry shirking shape of the Trandoshan disappear into the trees at the bottom. The leaves shuddered, and then stilled.

He was gone.

Ezra couldn't move, the pump of blood in his ears was deafening and his throat was raw. Had he just... No.

 _There was no cannon_ , Ezra realized with a jerk. _He's still alive. Probably injured, but still alive for sure._

Ezra couldn't help the awful quirk of his mouth, he felt giddy with relief. Even though his body was aching and his heart was beating against his ribs and his veins were throbbing with adrenaline; he couldn't help but laugh.

"He's _not_ gonna be happy to see me next time."

* * *

R&R for Good Karma and survival skills for Ezra's sake.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Hey guys! As always, You all keep upping the review game, and your words really make me smile. I'm so glad you've all been enjoying this fic, especially that you're found it so genuinely suspenseful.  
Now that the Trials are well underway, I'm sure you are all smarter then our boy and you'll all connect the dots faster then he or the Crew can. I look forward to reading your guesses and assumptions on where this story is going.  
This chapter is a little shorter then the former, but there are more coming soon. Thanks again for reading!

* * *

Trigger warnings below: Gore

 **The Survival Trials**

Chapter 14

* * *

Ezra made his was down the canyon. Not the way he'd climbed, but down the sloping outcrop; opposite of where the Trandoshan had fallen.

Ezra wanted as much space between him and the angry lizard. Away was the only thought in his head as he scrambled noisily down the hill, until he remembered. The other hunters could be anywhere.  
He stumbled and almost ate the ground. _Karablast!_

He caught himself on his knees, but he was sent tumbling taking a rock hard in the ribs before he stopped his descent.

He got to his feet only to stumble again, catching himself against a thin purplish tree. He blinked weirdly up a the tree for a moment, feeling the world spinning around him.

He needed to find somewhere to _hide._ He set off at a run again as soon as he could breath without his inner ear somersaulting.

At some point the ground leveled out, and the flora began to change. He slowed, partly out of exhaustion, and partly in awe of the changing scenery.

The view from the outcrop had rattled him. Nothing about this "world" made sense. The purplish trees gave way to a dark, dense jungle overgrowth. Odd thin trees with long fronds of beaded yellow pods that hung overhead. Ezra wove his way through, careful not to touch any of the pods.

The air felt thicker here and mushrooms covered the trunks of the trees. Ezra wrinkled his nose. They made the whole glade smell like the Ghost's fresher tank after a week long string of hyper-jumps. Ezra would have gladly traded this, for Zeb's musty strench anyday.  
He fiddled with the helmet's air-filter, but it wasn't equipped to filter bad odors. Ezra kept pressing on, deeper into the jungle, not stopping, until he found his way entirely blocked by a giant outcropping of rock thrusting right up from the bottom of the jungle floor. It was covered with a muddle of tree roots. Headein up got him away from the mushroom smell, the roots held his weight, but it was a long climb that took every last bit of his energy.

Collapsing at the top, his belly gave a hearty painful grumble and Ezra winced. He'd been hungry before, but always in cases where he could scourge in the disposal units if necessary. He'd never been hungry in the wilds.

Ezra _knew_ hunger. It had been a driving force in his younger years, but it had been a long time since he felt this kind of pain.

The feeling helped drive home the hopelessness of the situation, and suddenly Ezra found the idea of getting on his feet exhausting. He felt like Chopper running on Auxiliary power.

He thought about taking a rest, when a something shifted in the darkness of the branches. A pod broke free and landed a few yards away. It cracked open, and the putrid smell of rot permeated the air.  
Ezra didn't wait to see what had caused it. He just leapt to his feet and started running again.

* * *

The mood on board the Ghost was sombre.

Sabine and Chopper had worked through the night, and between them, they located and transcribed the pirate signal.

At first, they were only able to pick up the binary data. Chopper translated the only information they cared to know: Number-Six was still living. After much tweaking and a ransack mission to the nearest wreck-station for parts, Sabine managed to produce the Holo-Channel. Though there was no way to change or choose the feed.

The crew had gathered around the dejarik table, grimly watching the feed play out on the single offered channel.

The candidates had gone quiet since the initial slaughter at the beginning of the Trials. According to the litte counter in the corner, Seventeen were still alive.

The Dug was setting traps with the supplies he'd pocketed from the Treasure Pit. The Nikto seemed to be hunting for a place to set up camp in a marshy area. The Gotal was hiking over alien terraine.

The Massassi was currently the focus on the feed. He had set up his own base at the center of a grassy prairie. He was the clear winner of the Treasure pit brawl.  
He was laden with several small crates, a plastic tarp shelter, and was the only Candidate as yet to dare build a small camp fire. And with it was with good reason. He had a small stockpile of almost any weapon that could be thought of at his side. He sat comfortably by his fire, throwing his multitude of vibro-blades into a the wood of one of the crates.

They had no way to change the feed, and in the hours they sat glued to the wavering blue display, not once had it showed Candidates Six or Eight.

"There's... layers of data on this transmission." Sabine said glumly, staring at the data pad she'd lifted from the Gambler's bar. "I…can't make sense of this data. Its like its being streamed live from hundreds of locations, but that's an impossibility. It has to originate from somewhere and I can't find the first source. _If I could only just_..." She broke off, scowling fiercely at the endless lines of coded streaming across the screen.

Hera lay a hand on her shoulder. "I think its time you took a break. You won't be able to help if you burn yourself out."

Sabine looked up, prepared to argue, but Hera pursed her smile and nodded firmly. The girl's shoulders slumped. "I... will recalculate the data in the morning." Sabine climbed to her feet, purposely not looking at the holo of the hulking Massassi seated peacefully at his fireside.

"I will come get you if there's news." Hera told her gently, ushering her towards her cabin. "Zeb, Chop. You too. I'm calling it."

The Lasat was ready to disagree, and Chopper let out a string of grumbling trills.

"Don't give me that. Go plug in. Zeb; rest."

Zeb opened his mouth to argue, and then saw Hera's eyes were focused on Kanan at the table. His hands were folded tight under his chin, and he was staring focused completely on the holo, watching the feed, unblinking. He sensed there were words to be said, and likely not ones he wanted to be caught listening to.

"Uhh, whatever you say Hera." He answered gravelly, and got up from his seat, knocking Chopper into movement with his foot. "Come on you." Chopper didn't protest again, he buzzed to show his annoyance, but moved towards his charging station with Zeb on his heels.

Hera waited until all the cabins could be heard sealing shut, and sank into the seats Zeb had vacated. Kanan spoke first.

"What's the next?"

Hera frowned into the holo, the feed flickered with static, it showed the Dug again. He had hacked down some of the thin stalks of reeds that grew in tight clumps around him and was shaving the ends to fine points.

"Ful... Ahsoka has some of her best connections working on the signal." Hera answered finally.

"Have they made any progress?"

Her brows flattened, and an edge entered her voice. "They have found more of the gambling cantianas. A lot more of them then we originally estimated." She stopped, watching him out the corner of her eyes. "Kanan, the price of something this scale staying underground, undetected... it's astronomical. Whoever is in charge of running this... "

He beat her too it. "You think one of the big names could be running this? The Black Sun? This sort of thing _would_ be the Hutts style...

She shook her head, lekku swinging. "No... Kanan, Ahsoka and I were talking. We both agree. This feels... bigger then the Sun or the Hutts."

He started to nod, and the realized what she was suggesting.

"You think the Empire could be behind it?" He almost scoffed. "These... Trials," he said, the word was bitter in his mouth, "stand for everything the Empire isn't. Look at their clientele!"

Hera turned and fixed him with a look he rarely got these days, reproach. Like he had said something thickheaded. Then her look softened and she asked,  
"Think about what the Trials do. What they are, who's getting hurt?"

Kanan frowned deeply, the furrow on his brow deepening as he tried to connect the wires.

The Trials so far baffled and enraged him. At first glance, it was uncontrolled, raw and all for the sake of pulling income.  
But the more he learned, the bigger the puzzle got; the clearer it became that the game-makers had a plan. There was more to this then just a glorified cage match.

After a moment, he answered. "Its... a distraction. For the outer-worlds, the working class." He watched the Dug put aside a sharped stake, and start another. "The candidates are non-humanoids or slaves."

"Sound familiar?" Hera prompted gently.

The method behind the madness was certainly one the Empire favored, but even trying to force the two facts together in his thoughts, something didn't click. There was a piece missing. _Why?_

Kanan allowed himself a few seconds, and closed his eyes. They were dry and sore from staring into the holo for so many hours. His brain boiled with questions. He chest felt tight...

If the Empire was behind this, no matter how low it ranked on the Imperials scale of attention, if they realized who Ezra was...

When he opened his eyes, the Dug had laid down one wooden stake, and taken up another.

The sky was still fairly bright, it looked barley evening in the transmission, though the blue haze and multiple viewpoints, made telling the time by sight difficult.

If they were working on the same hours as the Crew, it should have long been nightfall by now, if they were on any planet with a single star or natural satellite. But that didn't do much to cut down the options.

The strange patchwork of flora, inconsistent daylight and apparently breathable atmosphere made identifying the planet harder then it ought to have been. Kanan had bound back and forth across the galaxy in a hundred different star-ships in his time, he was familiar with a thousand habitable planets, but none that looked vaguely like this one.

The lack of any development was worrisome. If it weren't for years of meditation practice, he'd have lost his control long ago and plunged into the pit of despair.

"Where are you?" Kanan asked the holo quietly, his fist getting a little tighter under his chin. "Show me, Ezra."

As if his wish had been granted by the Force, the transmission flickered , and showed a figure crouched under a tall tree. Both Hera and Kanan leaned forwards in surprise and then drew back when they realized the figure was not the profile of a skinny boy, but a weedy looking Bothan with long pointed ears.

She was huddled over, a big rock clutched in one hand. She wore the same slick body suit of the candidates and had a large backpack over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide as she glared into the dark, tensed and waiting.

Kanan frowned, it was too dark to see her tattoo. He thought hard, trying to pin what number she had been assigned in the line up. Something in him already knew what was coming.

The attack came from the shadows to her right. She cried out in pain. Her body thrown out into the dim light filtering through the thick trees and lay in a heap on the ground.

Number Eight stepped forward looking worse for wear. His left arm was at a angle, wrapped hastily in a scrounged rag sling. His scaly skin was covered in gashes and scabs including a large one on his shoulder, where a whole chuck of flesh had been torn away.

Kanan felt his chest tighten. Trandoshan skin was notoriously hard to penetrate, which only raised more questions about what had conspired between the lizard and Ezra.

The fallen Bothan came-to a little, groaning in pain. She tried to stand as the Trandoshan approached, but a pain in her side made her unsteady. She started to crawl.  
Number Eight raised the club he clutched in his left claw, which now had a chip and a crack running through the rounded end.

The Bothan lurched up just as the club swung , and carried her straight back to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Hera and Kanan didn't move, both watching the horror unfold. With a furious growl, the Trandoshan swung the club once more. The Bothan twitched, and then lay still.

A boom exploded across the feed, and a counter appeared in the corner. The aurbesh digit changed from 17 into 16, then faded away.

The Trandoshan doubled over, out of breath, then kicked over the corpse and ripped the backpack off the body with a growl. Then he stood straight, and slunk back into the darkness of the Trees.

The feed continued to train on the Bothan corpse for a few unsettling minutes. From the distance, the gore was lessned, but the scene was no less horrofiyng. Then the feed flickered and focused back on the Dug, still quietly whittling, now with three sharpened stakes at his feet.

They sat for a long time, reeling.

Hera was the first to move, coming to her feet, her eyes focused on something distant. Her expression unreadable.

"I'm going to contact Ahsoka." She said, her tone even, but a little hollow.

Kanan nodded and let her go, returning his hands under his chin and re-fixing his focus on the holo feed.

He prayed, to whatever force would listen that Ezra had escaped his bout with the murderous Trandoshan unharmed, and that he wouldn't cross paths with him again.

* * *

The explosion startled him. Ezra hit the ground and covered the back of his neck without hesitation. His first instinct was to blame Sabine for setting off the detonation without warning him.

Nothing happened.

He jerked up and saw he was still alone. The sound had already echoed away but he realized his mistake. It was only the cannon, not a bomb.

Someone had died.

He climbed to his feet, dusting leaf litter from the his suit, hoping no one had been watching. It was just a cannon.

He looked up into the trees, waiting for a second boom, but it didn't come. Ezra felt his eyebrows connect in a scowl. Was it wrong to hope that cannon had belonged to the Trandoshan? Probably. Jedi were peacekeepers, willing someone to be dead certainly didn't feel like the sort of thing he ought to be doing.

Ezra pushed the thoughts away, shaking his head. The helmet bounced off the collar with a tick-tick-tick. He had to keep moving.

He'd stayed on his feet since the pod incident, and that had been hours ago, surely. Every time he thought about resting, the itching in his spine made him re-think. No where felt safe enough, there was no where that he felt...alone.

Ezra's skin crawled for a moment at the reminder why he was here, and he glared into the passing trees on the off chance he had an audience.  
He hadn't caught sight of any holocams hidden in the trees yet, he had been looking, but Ezra had long since accepted that even if he couldn't find the cams, the Makers had probably found other ways to keep him monitored.

Once again he thanked the Force for the helmet. He was sweating like a Bantha under it, but he didn't dare take it off.

The last thing he needed was the ever vigilant IBS agent Kallus making an appearance and sweeping him off to an interrogation room or calling in Inquisitors.

Ezra thought about his last few days, the slavers, the box, in the chair; and smiled dryly. At least he wasn't used to being coddled at the moment. If the Imps did arrive and catch him, he would make it just that little bit harder on them in trade. The Trainers and the Makers hadn't broken him; the Empire wouldn't either.  
 _Bring it on Muttonchops,_ Ezra thought airily. _Maybe if I have any luck you'll run into Number Eight first._

He stumbled a little, and then shook himself awake, suddenly aware of his situation again. He had to stop disappearing into his thoughts. This was no afternoon stroll on the Lothal Grasslands, he needed to stay vigilant.

Cold blooded hunters and the Empire aside; Ezra knew he was in trouble. He'd been walking almost the entire day, and he hadn't come across a water source. His stomach rolled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything for over a day now. Food he was prepared to miss, but water? He wouldn't be able to go much further without it.  
His mouth was painfully dry, he could feel every breath dragging down his parched throat. His legs kept shaking, but he'd started to think that if he took a moment to rest, he wouldn't be getting back up.

Ezra kept moving. Listening for movement in the shadows, flinching when his own boots crunched on the dry leaves underfoot. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest and the backpack weighed heavily on his shoulders. His skull throbbed with each step, and he found the weight of the helmet grew lighter. He felt his head rolling back a little and Ezra squinted at the light cutting through the viewfinder.

 _I need to keep my wits about me,_ he thought. _I need to find water_

 _Focus Ezra,_ Kanan's voice told him, and Ezra could almost think his Master was here with him...  
His thoughts were jarred when he brought his foot down and found air. He had wandered to close to the edge of the ridge and over-balanced. Ezra went down with a strangled yelp, face-planted into the loose soil, rolling down the incline before finally coming to a stop.

Unlike every other time he'd fallen today, Ezra did not immediately get up.  
He lay still, pressing his cheek to the inside of the cold uncomfortable inner lining of is helmet, listening to the blood throb in his ears. He should get up, he knew, but he didn't move.

His dry mouth felt swollen and he tried to resist licking his cracked lips, which he knew would only dry them out further and waste precious moisture.

 _Come on_ , He chided himself. _Are_ _you going to just lay down and give up?_

 _Maybe._ He thought darkly, a streak of spite running through him.

But then he had a vision.

It wasn't one brought to him from the force, this had no swell of power behind it.

It was just a flash, the Crew back on board the ghost, crowded around the dejarik table, all watching the holonet. And in the feed, he was laying uselessly on the ground, pathetic and small...  
 _Come on, Laserbrain_ _!_ Sabine voice scolded him, just like she would if he was skirting chores on board the Ghost. _Stop playing around in the mud and pull your weight…._

 _Easy for you to say_ , another part of him said, and he made a fist of his hand in the mud...

Wait. Mud?

Ezra lifted his head and it came away with a squelch. There was something smeared across the viewfinder of his helmet and made it difficult to see through. A smell filtered through the mouth piece, making his mouth begin to salivate.

Despite all the trouble it had taken to get it, he had to take the helmet off, to see with his own eyes. He tore it off and instantly the felt the chilled air cooling the sweat that was pouring down his feverish face.

It was a spring, barely a few inches deep. It was bubbling away in the centre of a long muddy pool where the ground sloped inwards. Little sprigs of greenery were growing around the edges and the water trickled off either direction into the shadows of the trees.  
His legs surged with new strength and he stumbled back onto his boots. He shrugged off the weight of the backpack and discarded both it and the helmet into the soft mud.

He crawled right into the ticking stream with a laugh and cupped his hands into the water.

He lifted it up, and then paused.

Would the makers have poisoned the water? Was it safe to drink? What if it made him sick? He couldn't risk it right now.  
This was _true_ torture.

Ezra swallowed hard on his sandpaper tongue and his hands lifted the water to his nose and he sniffed. He smelled nothing but water and soil. It looked clean enough at the surface, and the ground was healthy. He felt no outside voice, telling him to stop, But still... he took half a sip as a taste test. It was glorious.

He had gulped down three more handfuls before he realized he could dunk his head. So he did.

He wallowed in the shallow pool, disturbing the slick mud as he relished the sensation of the water soaking into his suit, cooling his flesh. He drank handful after handful, until his gut had ceased to ache, and then splashed his cheeks, rinsing the puddle grit off his skin.

The throb in his mind began to ease and the cold water on his face brought him to his senses. Ezra whipped his head back and gasped for air and blinked around him at his surrounding with fresh eyes.  
The banks were curtained by long wispy trees with large roots, shielding the small water hole from outside eyes.

Now, with his heart beat finally slowing down, he suddenly realized how quiet it was. It was getting dark too, quickly. Why hasn't he noticed the grey skies?

Ezra felt panic flare again and stood, his thirst sated for now. Should he stop here? Or should he keep going through the night?

He stood up, fully intending to keep moving. To at least find somewhere less open, somewhere with more shelter or more walls to put his back against. But now he was aware of how badly his legs were shaking underneath him, he couldn't stand the idea of staying on his feet much longer.

He rescued his helmet and the backpack from the mud, wiping some of the muck off with his hands and pulling it down over his face.

After a few yards he crawled up into the crook of one of the wispy trees, resting the back of his helmet against the bark. _I'll rest for a few minutes,_ he thought. _No more then an hour. I won't go to sleep. I've got to keep moving._

And then he slept.

* * *

 **R &R** For Good Karma and Safety for Ezra


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Hullo All! I am still not deceased, just very busy. But don't worry, I have no plans to abandon this. Here is an extra long chapter just to say ** _thank you_** to everyone who reviews! I read every one and they always make me smile or spur me on. All I want is to write something you guys enjoy reading, so Thank you for telling me when I do.

The chapter also features a sizable portion that was donated by my wonderful beta, Meepicheep herself. Without her I wouldn't be learning half as much as I have while writing this. She is a dialog _queen._

I hope you all enjoy!

 **The Survival Trials**

Chapter 15

* * *

"Another mining outpost." Hera frowned at the latest star-map, projected from the Ghosts console.

"Yes," Ashoka's hologram flickered, "The betting cantinas all seem to be on mining or engineering facilities. Set up a day before the tournament, gone the day it ends. Lots of payoffs, all the local officials know nothing about it."

"Any mining or engineering underworld crime rings big enough to pull something like this off?" She leaned back in the pilot's chair, resting her hands against her aching temples. "Have you heard _anything_ from your insiders?"

Ahsoka's expression turned sour. "I feel it would be... short sited to operate on the assumption the Empire is somehow responsible, Hera."

Hera grimaced, and bit back her argument. Kanan had said as much too. It was to easy to blame the Empire for all the faults in the Galaxy.

"I understand. But I just have this feeling that someone higher up in the Empire is pulling strings, or at the very least, allowing the operation to exist."

Ahsoka nodded. "I've got most of my best agents on this, but the secrecy around this tournament's huge. You figure an operation like this has got to protect its interests against other crime organizations at the very least. I can only imagine what kind of money the big families and syndicates are loosing to this operation and how much they'd like to put an end to it, imperial involvement or not. That, and my agents are normally chasing intel on the Empire's expansion and war efforts. They're not set up for something as vague as this. Hera, I'm sorry, the leads aren't getting any better."

Hera sighed, "I know. Sabine can't find anything more with the signals when they get behind the bar. Nothing as elaborate as that first one. Its too bad we blew it up. All the credit transactions are being handled by third, fourth, and sometimes fifth parties. They bury their trails, even on the basics. Sabine couldn't even trace delivery or service records." Hera folded her arms tightly across her chest in frustration. "Its all been blacklisted."

The control panel put out a faint orange glow, stuck on the lowest power settings. She'd switched to auxiliary power to take Ahsoka's transmission, to assure herself their conversation would not be overheard. The Ghost was parked dead on a smaller asteroid, avoiding detection from the nearby settlement on Sakhra-6, the largest asteroid in the system, where Kanan, Zeb, and Sabine had landed with the Phantom nearly an hour ago to visit another betting cantina. She'd have to power down in a minute to avoid anyone picking up on the coded transmission. Though, Sakhra-6, like the other two cantina outposts they had already visited, had low levels of imperial control. Hera had a hunch they'd see no fighters flying patrol.

"Hera," Ahsoka leaned in, her tone growing tense. "My contacts have discovered that there's a large shipment of medical supplies being transported from Nyrue."

"We're not stopping our search for Ezra." Hera said reflexively, sitting up. She'd gone down this route once before.

"I'm not asking you to stop your search."

"Ezra's important to the rebellion. He's important to our family."

"Yes, he is." Ahsoka assured her firmly, "and not just because of the intel he has about our organisation. If the Empire ever recognises him from the feed and tries to retrieve him themselves, we will have an entirely different problem. But if your crew keeps blowing up cantina's, someone going to notice. Nyrue is in the next system over. The rebellion still needs the Ghost and its crew too. Maybe while you focus on this, a better lead will surface."

Hera winced at the mention of blowing up bars. The first one, a fire fight was the necessary distraction to cover their exit and any evidence they might have left behind. The second, though, sounded like Zeb had dropped the detonator out of pure frustration. And Hera wasn't sure from the debriefing if it was Sabine or Kanan who had lit the bomb at the third location.

The crew was totally wound.

Hera was pragmatic first and foremost. She was tactical, and resolved. She knew when it was time to fight and when you needed to lay low, though right now her heart was tearing in two. "Alright. We'll do it."

Chopper, running on auxiliary charge in the back, powered up and wheeled over to the hologram.

"Whap, whap, wrrrow, whap." He burbled, surprising them both with the reminder that he still had the holocron from their wreck of a mission days prior.

Ahsoka's face tensed. "I... let it slip my mind in all the excitement." She put a hand under her chin and frowned. "I will send an escort to pick it up as soon a possible. If you can reach these co-ordinates…"

"Bwaap, beep, bwap."

Hera swivelled in her seat slowly to face the droid.  
"What do you mean you ' _can't hand it over'?_ " she grit out.

"Bweep, bop, bweep!"

"New security measures? Since when do _you_ have security measures?"

Chopper trilled and waved his extendo arms in a shrugging gesture.

Hera stared, "Are you telling me, that, although you do have the Holocron secured in your chassis, you cannot retrieve it? Not even with an override?"

"Bwaapp beewp."

"You need a password?"

"Bweep bwap."

"Well who has it?"

"Bwap-wa!"

" _Ezra."_ Hera breathed, and sank back against her seat trying to ignore the pressure building in her head. _This was all such a mess..._

The cockpit was silent.

Finally Ahsoka spoke.

"If I understand, what your droid is saying, is that retrieving the holocron, a high priority mission, is now dependant on the rescue of Ezra Bridger." She didn't sound put out by this new information, surprisingly, she sounded intrigued. "I will put this forward to my generals. It seems I now have the necessary intel to further motivate our rescue resources. Perhaps they can call in a few more favours than I can."

"Bwaap!" Chopper answered happily, spinning his treads.

Hera frowned, glancing between Ahsoka and Chopper. Chopper was clearly trying to manipulate the rebellion generals, in his own way, and Ahsoka seemed happy to allow it. If he was so inclined to _help_ , perhaps he could better serve at her side for now.

"Ahsoka, send that escort. Come and collect Chopper too, he can set up filtering data on the holo-feed on your end. He knows Ezra better then any of your generals or your data droids, he'll be more use to you while we complete the supply mission. And maybe," she eyed the astromech warily out the corner of her eyes. "You could have your best droid mechanics work on overriding those 'security measures.''

Ahsoka nodded, her expression turning to business. "I agree. I'll transmit the Nyrue specs. We will send a support ship and a guard soon. I will see you back at Safe Haven when you are ready. Over."

Hera had to move the Ghost to intercept the shuttle, which had come right on time, and Chopper was pleased to go.

"Behave." she told him firmly, before letting him set off in the care of the guard.

"Don't worry Captain Syndulla. We'll escort him." a guard told her firmly.

She smiled pointedly and saluted their departure, before muttering, "That's not what worries me."

* * *

When Ezra opened his eyes, the orange sunlight was streaming through the trees, refracting strangely though the blue visor. He jerked into waking with a gasp, and ripped the helmet off, sucking in the cool air. The spring was bubbling nearby, but he could hear nothing else. Everything was still and disturbingly peaceful.

He was alone, but he patted himself down quickly, not quite willing to believe he had survived the night so easily and carelessly.

"Way to drop your guard." he muttered weakly.

He crawled back to the water, his legs aching the whole way. He hung himself over a flat rock at the edge of the spring, lifting handfuls to drink and splash the sweat off his face.

He stumbled back to the tree and for the first time looked at the treasures he'd swiped from the pit.

The helmet close up was _Wizard,_ and he was immediately taken by the design. The mechanics of the face plate were brilliant, allowing the entire mouth piece to separate and slid away into the mask under the ears. The round view-ports reflected his own face back up at him. The stark roundness of his head's reflection unsettled him. He felt suddenly self conscious, exposed. Ezra shook his head quickly and turned the helmet around.  
The power cells at the back were still at nearly full charge, but he still adjusted their usage to the lowest setting.

He slid the helmet back on, feeling comfortable with the coverage over his ears and cheek bones but left the face-plate up.

Inside the backpack he found a set of three small steelum cups that nested one inside the other, a plastic tarp that was about as wide as he was tall, and a water-skin. He immediately filled the water-skin and sat back to sip as he explored further.

There was also a small roll of cord, a thinly padded sleeping bag, and to Ezra's amazement; two bacta patches.

They were small, barely fit for a good scrape, let alone a blaster wound. But he held them reverently, one in each hand, and was truly grateful for having had the clear head to grab the supplies.  
He carefully repacked the bag, making sure to stash the patches safely at the bottom.

The Massassi's vibroblade had a wide handle, and his fingers were only just long enough to wrap around it. Ezra weighed it in one hand, and then the other, testing the balance. He gave an few experimental jabs, a clumsy swing and tucked the blade in close to him in defence, like Kanan had taught him. But it was nothing like his lightsaber. He felt unbalanced, and a little stupid waving the short blade around.

"Laser-brain." Ezra mumbled, hearing Sabine's voice smiling in his head. The reminder hurt, and it was enough to launch him into action.

He snorted irritably, and shoved the blade into his boot where he could easily reach it. He topped up the water skin and climbed to his feet, swinging the backpack over his shoulders. He looked up, squinting, and judged that it must be the middle of the day if the sun was that high.

"Time to get moving." he told no one. He frowned, realising he was already falling into his old street habit of talking to himself out loud.

" _This isn't Lothal_ ," he reminded himself silently, absently tugging the cold collar around his neck. _I need to watch what I say out here. Anyone could be listening. The Crew will come and find me..._

He wasn't in any hurry to distance himself from his only water source, better to follow it; but which way to start? Upstream or down? He swivelled around, realizing in his dehydrated state the night before, he hadn't kept track of which direction he'd come from. He was lost.

Ezra looked up, and then down the shallow waterways, and smiled crookedly. He lifted his hand and pointed from end to end.

"Lothwolf, lothcat, lothrat, run. Pick a path and let's be done."

He was left pointing down stream, and with a shrug, he got on his way.

He did his best to avoid leaving tracks, trying instead to keep to the smooth rocks that jutted from the mud and patches of leaf litter. But after an hour of following the stream, the rocks had grown smaller, then became pebbles, and finally a soft slop of brown sand. The sprigs of greenery that grew along the waterline began to thin, and the stream began to grow wider and deeper and the banks grew more defined. The water started to bubble as it moved faster into deeper pools.

He came across a patch of wiry bushes with thick orange thorns and bright yellow berries growing in clumps. The berries were rounded, smooth and soft to the touch. He could almost taste the juice, and his stomach let out a thunderous growl at the very sight. Ezra realised he'd be standing and staring open mouthed at the berries, so he decided to take a rest.

Ezra sat for a long time, dipping one of his cups into the creek to fill his belly, and internally debating weather or not he should try them. Logically, they were likely poisonous, but he couldn't help but think that wasn't the Game-makers plan. How entertaining could that be? Would it be better to starve to death or risk trying toxic berries?

On a whim, he reached out and plucked on from the branch. It came away easily, like it was perfectly ripe. He glared at the little fruit as he rolled it between two fingers, and finally popped it into his mouth.

He crunched down, and it exploded between his teeth. It was just as juicy as he'd hoped, but his mouth immediately flooded with the most awful sour tang he'd ever tasted.

Ezra spat it out, gagging, and dragged himself back to the creek to scrub his tongue, trying not to think how foolish he must have looked on the holocams.

He shook himself, and got to his feet to keep moving, but only a few minutes down stream, his lips began to tingle.

At first he thought it was dehydration or his empty stomach playing tricks on his mind. But then the tingle spread into his cheeks and tongue, and before long, his mouth was completely numb. He worried the berries would start affecting his nerves, but nothing more happened. He spent the next hour spitting, and trying not to accidentally bite his tongue or the inside of his cheeks. He sloshed his way along the waterway till the numbness had begun to subside.

His head was pounding now, and he wasn't sure if it was the heat, the dirty water, or the berries. But he trudged on until he reached a shady, muddy patch of riverbank. The brighter mood he'd felt on waking had started to turn as sour as the yellow berries, and a bitter scowl settled on his features. The mud was soft here, and cooled his skin inside the suit. He wondered if he had a fever.

 _I hope not, I have enough problems to worry about._

Ezra collapsed into the crook of a tree with a complicated root system and dark oval leaves.  
Almost as soon as he'd sat down the mud moved at his feet. Ezra watched, half awake as a worm wriggled to the topsoil.

He stared at it, the first sign of life he'd seen since getting dropped in here.

It crawled a little way, and then began to writhe, digging back into the mud. Ezra reached out and carefully picked it up between two dirty fingers.

The worm squirmed, it's grey pearlescent flesh changed colour and tone as it struggled.

 _This is what I am to the makers_ , Ezra thought dully. _I'm a worm. I can wriggle all I want, but that won't get me anywhere._

His stomach rolled and Ezra blinked.

He knew lots of cultures ate insects, but Ezra had never tried it. He'd never really had the need.

He grimaced, watching the worm writhing in his palm, helpless.  
It had been more then almost two days since he'd last eaten now. His belly protested painfully at the reminder.

"A kids gotta eat." he muttered grimly, and tossed the worm into his mouth.  
He swallowed quickly, unable to bring himself to chew, but the worm got stuck on the back of his tongue and Ezra gagged.

He hacked, and spat the worm back out, coughing fitfully and tasting dirt on his tongue. The worm landed on the mud, and quickly burrowed back underground.

"It's your lucky day." Ezra told it snappily, trying to save face. He climbing awkwardly to his feet, re-shouldered his pack and quickly turned away. He felt oddly guilty, which was ridiculous.

He walked on down the water way, exploring the banks as the flora changed. He saw trees that grew into thorny spires, tall reedy stalks, and low hanging bushes covered in little black flowers. Ezra studied them from afar. He considered coming in closer, but stopped when he saw the sand disturbed at the waters edge. It was a set of freshly made tracks leaving the river and disappearing into the under-growth.

Ezra didn't recognise the claw pattern, but whatever it was, it was large. Ezra changed course to the other side of the creek and moved at a brisk speed. The tracks were too large and animal-like to belong to any of the other candidates, even the Massassi or the Trandoshan weren't that size.

It was not a good sign, but Ezra filed away the knowledge, hopfully this would just put another opponent the Trandoshan might come up against if he were on his way to seek out the boy.

As it was, Ezra had formulated two single plans.

Hide.

And wait.

If he was clever, which he liked to think he was, he could hole up somewhere and leave the other opponents to knock each other off, until the Crew arrived of course.

He looked up and scanned the sky for the seventh time that day. There were sill no clouds, and no star ships come to the rescue, but the white-blue colour seemed off somehow, like the sky was oversaturated or hanging too low.

He shrugged and kept trudging along. Whatever dodge rock the game makers had dumped them on, Ezra wasn't too interested in learning anything more about it then he needed to. And to be frank, he could feel his brain starting to wander while he tried to keep it focused. He needed to eat.

The next few hours moved slowly, and though Ezra could not see the sun move across the sky, the daylight dimmed. He found harder to walk straight. His weary feet accidentally disturbed the pebbles along the river bank with a clatter.

The waterway got wider and deeper. The going was rockier and on the far side of the bank, growing from boulders into a sheer slate wall. He kept walking along the bank until his legs gave out and he dropped the back pack.

The sudden lack of weigh made him feel light-headed, and he almost lay down right where he was. Instead, he pulled out one of the steelum cups. He shot one careful glance all around, listening for alarm bells. But the trees were still and there was no sound.

He dipped the cup and slurped greedily, drinking more then his fill, hoping to keep his belly fully.  
The water swirled, small whirlpools appeared and vanished with the flow of the stream. Ezra thought he saw a flash of shadows deep in the pale water weed that grew in spots on the sandy stream bed.  
He blinked, trying to focus on the little flashes of movement.  
The river weed curled and folded with the flow of the stream, pieces of leaf litter and seed pods could be seen swirling along with the currant, along with some small tiny...

"Fish!" Ezra heard his voice burst forth from his mouth and covered his mouth in surprise. The word echoed off the river rocks like blaster fire

He ducked and looked around quickly, preparing to be attacked. There was only silence. No answering war cry, and no Trandoshan bursting out of the trees.

He waited a full heart-stopping minute before turning his attention back to the little darting silver bullets just out of reach. He watched them, a bubble of excitement welling in his gut.

Ezra didn't know how to fish. He'd never actually seen it done and no one had ever taught him. But he still remembered the stories about the booming fisheries near the central city ports. Lothal's oceans had once been teeming with life, until the Empire had set up their smelting plants, their engineering stations, and the Sinnar System factories. The whole port industry had been closed down in a matter of a few short years, citing the water was now too polluted to risk eating whatever came from it. Nowadays the only fish available in the Lothal markets were the ones stocked by off world importers.

Ezra frowned, watching the little creatures swim. There couldn't be much meat on them. But surely they'd have more sustenance then the worm might had.

Ezra knew the principle of fishing. You needed a net or a line; neither of which Ezra had. The cord was too short to be much use. But he wasn't going to give up so easily. The river was narrow in spots, and rocks made little dead end pools.

Ezra set to work. He tied the tarp to the tree roots, draped over rocks so he could splash water, and hopefully fish into it. He scooped handfuls, tossing the fish in the direction of the make-do net.  
It took several tries and a long wait until all the fish returned after all his splashing round, but Ezra was pretty impressed with his handiwork. Swimming manically around in the misshaped pool were four tiny fish.

Ezra used both hands to single one out, finally catching a hold. He lifted it out of the tarp-pool by the tail, his grin quickly turning into a grimace.

The little fish squirmed, flapping between his fingers and wriggling. It had big eyes that took up most of the space of its head and very little flesh. The scales looked duller outside the water and the small mouth gasped for air.

He didn't want to eat it. He wanted to let it go. It was small, and the big eyes made it harder to ignore the animal's panic. He tried not to think about his failure with the worm.

Ezra wanted to survive, more then anything. He wanted to survive to see the Ghost crew one last time. He wanted to see his family. He wanted to see Kanan. He wanted to keep his promises. And if wanted to survive; he _needed_ to eat something other then those awful berries and dirty creek water.  
His stomach growled again, and the fish began to slow down its flapping.

"Grubs up." he mumbled and threw his hand up and slipped the wriggling fish straight down his throat, bypassing his tongue completely. He winced and hacked as it made it's slippery way down his oesophagus. Pounding his fist on his chest, he made a face. "Ugh, way worse then worms."

He rubbed his tongue against his teeth, trying to dislodge the slimy feeling of algae, and set about trying to corner more fish in the tarp with his hands.

He ate all four of the poor beasts before his bowels cramped up and he had to retreat downstream to relived himself in the bushes. He tried not to think about the holo-cams. He missed his daily bucket, back in the box which felt like it was weeks ago rather then days. When he was done, he kicked dirt up to try and cover the scent best he could.

 _Force,_ being tracked by a Trandoshan was a pain. No dirt would cover his tracks if the Lizard was really on his tail, but Ezra still held out hope that Number Eight was still down for the count.

Ezra hauled himself out of the river on the other bank onto a narrow ledge of rock. The rest of the cliff towered above him. Walking carefully on the slippery rock, he found a crevice almost his size at the far end. Not quite a cave, but shelter. He strung the plastic tarp across the entrance, weighing down the top with loose stones, hoping the extra wall might hold onto some warmth.

He was surprised when a fat bright orange lump jumped out of the water and landed square on a rock across the stream. It looked a little like a Frogdog or a toad, though much smaller. Ezra eyed it curiously, until the creature turned a little and showed its back was a mess of lumps and something that oozed white pus. Ezra gagged, making a mental note to keep toad off his menu in future.

The toad seemed happy enough to sit in the open, which Ezra took as a good sign that meant the area was probably safe for now. There were no Lothrats or Lothcats to take cues from out here, but a likely poisonous toad would do for now.

He stretched out on the rock, and watched the day light slowly fade away over the tops of the cliff and the trees, hoping to dry out a little, ignoring the occasional shudder from his gut. This might be a spot to rest but danger still lurked out in the shadows.

* * *

The mood aboard the Phantom on its trip back from Sakhra-6 was downright mournful. Kanan piloted without a word, Sabine and Zeb kept their eyes on the floor.

"We should have gone back and asked that last barkeep for information."

Zeb spoke up.

Sabine gave him a flat look. They had discussed this route several times now.

"We should have asked _forcefully._ " Zeb added, cracking his knuckles.

Sabine would have answered, but the Phantom shuddered as it docked with the Ghost. Kanan was on his feet and stormed from the small shuttle, his expression unreadable. The port hole was nearly slammed shut behind him.

"Way to go." Sabine hissed, shoving the Lasat in the arm. He drew back, his ears low.

"Sorry."

Sabine instantly felt shamed, it was easy to overlook Zeb's pain, he locked it away so well. Losing Ezra had probably reminded him of old wounds, and the bags under his eyes told her that he hadn't been sleeping well.  
None of them had.

She lay a hand on his arm in apology. "We'll find another way." Sabine told him, though what other ways were left to them, she didn't know.

He nodded glumly, but his expression perked up. "Come on. Better go see if Hera needs backup."

Sabine winced internally.  
Kanan's mood the last few days had been subdued, withdrawing further with each empty lead.

The cantina on Sakhra-6 had been emptier than the others, run by a large Besalisk. The clientele was mostly humanoid, and seemed more interested in drinking than placing bets. It was the most friendly place they'd visited all day, which was saying something.

They had, by some miracle, avoided being present for any real changes to happen on the holo-screens through the day's different bar visits. It seemed after the initial bloodshed, the candidates kept their distance from one another. Sabine had found herself watching the Dug when he appeared, grudgingly impressed by his ingenuity. While many of the candidates had found a place to hole up, the Dug was busy building traps that covered over three different territories. He'd rigged snares with some twine he'd snagged from the Pit and hidden spring traps in the underbrush. Recently he'd begun digging some narrow pit traps. The bottom of which, Sabine suspected, he planned to pepper with more of the sharp reed spears he'd made.

While the big betting on the power candidates kept the holo-channel focused on the Trandoshan and the Massassi, Sabine would have put her credits on the Dug. He was cunning. He might not have been the biggest, but he was clearly the most prepared to take on the task of hunting prey.

Of course, she wasn't planning on placing any bets, she didn't even pay screen time for Number Six. The less Ezra was on screen, the less likely he would attract attention. They had all agreed, though the temptation to pay for an update on Ezra's condition was hard to ignore.

On Sakhra, the only new tid-bit they'd picked up at all was just when they'd been about to leave, with a detonation device planted under the bar, courtesy of Sabine.

A small group of ugnaughts had suddenly gotten rowdy just as the crew was leaving. "If they don't bump the fodder soon, they'll be nested in like swampflies." One said.

"Don't worry," Another replied with a wicked grin, "You know the makers always throw in a few wild cards. Its been quiet, we'll be hearing a cannon sooner then you think."

Sabine wondered grimly what sort of surprises did the makers have in store for the fodder.  
When she climbed down the ladder from the Phantom behind Zeb, Kanan was already in the rec room. Hera was seated at the dejarik table, frowning at Kanan. He leant against the far wall without meeting her eyes, arms folded tight, glaring at the floor, waiting to leave. Kanan had been quiet the whole job, focused, never once letting his gaze drift toward the feed the whole time they'd been in the bar. Sabine could sense the storm building under his skin. She was used to working with volatile chemicals, and right now Kanan reminded her of one of her bombs, waiting for the denotation.

The holo feed at the dejark table had been paused, which made Sabine's stomach flip uncomfortably. Chopper was no where to be seen.

She cleared her throat. "So what now?"

Hera turned her attention to her slowly, letting her eyes drag away from Kanan.

"Ahsoka, contacted me." she said firmly. "There's a shipment being transported from Nyrue. Medical supplies."

Sabine blinked, but Zeb asked the question.

"What's that got to do with finding Ezra?"

Hera's expression didn't even flicker. "Nothing. This isn't about Ezra."

The air seemed to disappear for a moment, both Sabine and Zeb stared, open mouthed. Before they could recover, Hera put up a hand.

"These supplies are needed by more then thirty different settlements through the Rebellion. They will save lives, and more still, they will build support for our cause. I know we are all," she swallowed, "pained by Ezra's absence..."

The crew collectively winced.

"But I will remind you that the loss of one solider does not stop the war. Ezra put himself in this situation for the sake of our mission. To forget that would be to insult his sacrifice."

"Sacrifice..." Zeb began, a growl low in his throat. But he was again cut off by Hera.

"Poor word choice, I'm sorry. Taking this mission does not mean we are going to stop looking for him. But you have to admit we have just spent the last forty-two hours scouring the galaxy, known and unmapped, and we have nothing to go on. We have no intel on where he might be, and if we continue to visit gambling cantina that always meet _unfortunate ends_ ," she glanced once in Kanan's direction, "we will just alert the Game makers what we're up too. And then, we might never find Ezra."

Hera let her words resonate.

Sabine watched Zeb's shoulder deflate and knew hers followed.

"Instead, we're going to take a different approach. While we focus our time on the shipment, Ahsoka and the rest of the fleet are continuing the search in our stead. They have more resources, and they now have Chopper's help..."

"You sent Chopper away?" Sabine asked, now bewildered. Now they were down two crew members?

Hera fixed her with a firm stare. "He volunteered to go. He is better equipped to filter the holo-feed for information the fleet can use. After we collect the supplies, we will rendezvous with the fleet and discuss what actions to follow from there. Understood?"

Sabine and Zeb were quiet, and without meaning too, they both glanced to Kanan.

He appeared like he hadn't even been listening, his stormy expression still pinned on the floor. But as the crew looked to him for his answer, he snapped upright and turned his back.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked flatly. "You heard the Captain." Then he disappeared through the door.

Hera's frown deepened, her lekku rising a little at her back.

Sabine cleared her throat, hoping for an appeal. "Hera..."

Hera was on her feet, already moving towards the cockpit. "The decision has been made, Sabine. Please respect it."

The hatch hissed closed behind her.

They stood for a few moments, a little startled by the cold treatment.

Zeb recovered first, laying a large hand on her shoulder. "We'll find another way." he said gently, echoing her own words back at her. But Sabine was having none of it. Her chest was tight and her hands burned to be useful.

"I'll be in my room." she said, and stormed towards her cabin.

She had bombs to make.

* * *

Zeb watched Sabine leave with a falling expression. Lately the girl had been keeping to herself more, if that were possible. He slumped into a seat at the Dejarik table. The Ghost had been quiet the last few days, no surprises there. But it was more then just their youngest member's absence. True, Ezra managed to start most of the arguments without even trying, but now that he was absent, Zeb could feel how strained the crew was without a daily vent.

It was disconcerting. They needed to be more in tune then ever before, they needed to be working together, like they had when Kanan had been taken. Instead, they were off balance. Arguments went unsaid, tension was building under everyone's skin.

What was different this time?

Zeb didn't have think. It was Ezra.

He had filled the Ghost with his endless determination the whole time Kanan was imprisoned. But now it was him that was missing and the crew had to find him. And the crew was loosing faith.

But Ezra had faith in them, he was counting on it. Perhaps, this time, it was Zeb's turn to keep them moving towards their goal. He could take a leaf out of the kid's book. They just needed a break, they needed a lead.

Zeb flicked on the HoloChannel, instantly flooding the room with sound and noise. If he couldn't be of any help, he might as well keep an eye on the brutes stuck in the Arena with the Kid.

* * *

Ezra had just settled into his sleeping bag, hidden in his notch in the wall when the cannon sounded.

He sat bolt up and froze. Listening to the echo bounce off the stone walls.

Ezra felt uneasy. He couldn't sense another presence nearby, but something was _...off._

He climbed out of his bag, quickly rolled it into his pack. He couldn't sleep now, he might as well be moving. Up river, down river; it didn't matter. He just felt like he needed to be on his feet. The feeling was so overwhelming his fingers shook as he shoved the rest of his gear in the pack.

He was just pulling the backpack clasp shut when a metallic smell hit his nostrils. He blinked in confusion before bolting upright, shoving his helmet down over his ears.

Swinging the backpack over his shoulders, he bounded to the flat rocks on his left. He jumped two more rocks, his boots slipping a little on the algae. He found his feet before risking a glance over his shoulder.

A thick lilac mist streamed down the river and ghosted into trees on the bank. The edges of it bled into his tiny camp crevice in a rush, and spilled over the ledge and blanketed it from view.

He relaxed all at once, despite the prickling feeling at the back of his mind. Adrenaline, he thought.  
He felt incredibly stupid to be so frightened by just a night fog. The underworld audience was surely laughing at him now. The skinny boy, Number Six, frightened by a cloud.

Ezra turned to face it, studying how the mist moved, billowing up and blooming new clouds at the base. He watched it slowly edge forward, the creeping gas streamers puffing out like purple fingers reaching for him. _Its kinda pretty_ , he thought, cocking his head to one side. _Sabine would appreciate a sight like..._ Ezra almost completed the thought, but shoved the notion away at once.

The idea of Sabine trapped in here with him was not one he would whisper, even in his mind. Not with his luck. The mist continued to creep forward, snaking around the trees along the bank, but never going high enough to reach the leaves.

 _It might be a blessing in disguise_ , he thought, watching everything it touched disappear from view. With the helmet's night vision, he could probably move inside it, the other Candidates would never see him coming in this...

But as he thought about his options, he caught sight of the toad-like creature hop from one rock to another. As it landed on the second rock, a tendril of mist reached out and ghosted along the toads warty back.

The toad immediately began to swell, its eyes bugging out from its body. Then, it exploded with a wet popping noise.

Ezra's eyes flew wide open and panic took him.

Ezra fled He had no idea what that mist was, only that if it caught him he'd be dead in seconds.

His legs ached as he threw himself with abandon from rock to rock, making it a short distance down the waterway. He risked a glance back and saw the mist looming ten feet behind him. The air around him suddenly grew humid, charged with electricity like the air before a storm. A thought struck him, how was the mist moving so fast when there was no breeze?

The stray thought distracted him and Ezra overshot his next leap and almost missed the rock. He clambered to stay on top and sucked in a shaking gasp.  
 _I can't panic_. _I have to think clearly. I can't let some stupid mist be what kills me! I'm not some pathetic worm. I'm_ not _a toad!_

He judged his next jump better and managed to give himself a moment to turn and judge how fast the poisonous cloud was chasing him. He had about six feet of breathing room between his current rock and the mist, but it was moving slower now he had reached a part of the river where the banks began to widen.

But it also meant Ezra was beginning to run out of stepping stones.

He glanced at river. It was dark and much deeper here then back near his camp. Remembering those strange tracks in the sand, he was suddenly worried about what might be _in_ the water.

He leapt two more rocks and rechecked the mist.

Five feet now.

He turned to look for his next step, and realised in his panic, that there weren't any more rocks to leap to.

…he had cornered himself.

"Karablast!" He cursed, and quickly sized up his options. The river spread out in front of him, widening between the cliff and forested bank, rippling away into the dark night. He could retrace his steps over the rocks and try to beat the fog to the path that lead a little closer to the bank, or he could jump into the water and take his chances there.

He might not be able to swim but the current might drag him further from the gas. But what other dangers would that bring?

He cursed in anger and almost danced on the spot in indecision. The cloud was only three feet away. He had maybe 20 seconds to choose.

Water and death, or mist and death?

A small part of him whispered that at least the mist was the easy way out. It would be over quickly if the toad was any example to go by.

 _When have I ever done things the easy way?_ Ezra thought.

He pushed his helmet down firmly, gripped his backpack straps, and jumped feet first.

* * *

It was freezing! The icy water closed over his head, turning him upside down and he almost panicked.  
The shock of the sudden temperature change pushed the air from his lungs and he gasped through the helmet filter, expecting water to flood his mouth. He surprised when it filled with oxygen instead.

This helmet had a breathing tube in the mouth piece? If Ezra could have, he would have whooped in joy.

Instead he struggled, a gangly mess of limbs, as he tried to dive deeper, cursing his body that just wanted to float to the surface. The current pushed him, dragging him downstream.

If he could find a rock or a tree root to anchor himself to, maybe he could just hole up below, breathing through his mask till it passed? But how much oxygen did the mask have in supply?

He risked looking up over his shoulder but the water surface was choppy and the little light he could see was distorted.

Something brushed against his thigh. Ezra felt his heart leap into his throat. _Just a rock_ , he told himself, though he could not touch the bottom.

Another bump, this time on his other side and clearly made by something other then a rock. Rocks didn't tend to dart away into the darkness. He tried to spin around, but all he could make out was a trail of bubbles. He could feel his pulse begin to spike.

There was something else in here with him.

 _Of course there is_ , he thought wearily.

His snark evaporated as something sharp bit into the flesh of his knee and he gasped out in pain, swiping his hand through the water and of course; finding nothing. His fumbled in the dark water and reached into his boot. He yanked out the vibro-knife, and pulled it in close to his body, preparing for another attack. He felt awkward and weightless, and completely exposed. His fingers were numb, but he gripped the blade tight. He hoped it worked under water.

The next strike came from behind, a sharp prick on his ribs. Ezra corkscrewed his legs around, stirring bubbles; only to be struck again on the side of his helmet. Something hard glanced off the metal with a metallic _tick_.

Ezra swiped blindly with the knife, slashing nothing but water. With a cold jolt, he felt gravity returning and realised he had let himself drift closer to the surface of the water. He pushed his arms through the water and shrugged deeper into the dark and kicked away from the light.

Invisible teeth bit into his calf, and sharp pain shot up his legs.

 _Enough of this!_ Ezra thought, and thrust a his free hand out and took a deep even breath through the filter.

He thought of nets. Of ripples on the lakes during the rainy season. He could feel the surface of the water tossing, and above it, the lilac mist stirred. It felt acidic and angry.  
Ezra tried to imagine an anchor wrapping around his ankles, securing him to the floor of the river bed and dragging him further away from the poisonous cloud. The water became colder as he sank, his ear and fingers began to ache. The oxygen filtrating though his mask got thinner as the water seemed to be getting thicker.

Something shifted, and Ezra felt it coming this time. A sharpness, slicing through the water like a blaster shot with a mind of its own. He kicked and moved himself enough out of the way that the thing cut right past him. He felt the bubbles, the water displacement, and thought he saw a flash of yellow.  
The dart kept going, and the arched around, aiming for another shot.

Ezra tightened his hold on the knife, and this time braced himself by treading water, bringing the blade in close to his chest.

He closed his eyes, since he was already blind, and reached for the Force.

The dart came at him from the left, and this time Ezra stilled, waiting for the attack. As the water split apart, he coiled his arm and struck with a jab. His knife met resistance. Before it could escape again, he latched onto what he though was the tail with his other hand. It was smooth and flat with sharp edges, like a wide knife. The creature writhed and jerked, and a sharp clang told him the teeth had struck the helmet again. Ezra tightened his grip, and in a series of jabs, he stabbed into where he thought the head of the beast was. The vibro-knife did not disappoint, and if by luck or skill, he felt the blade sink in deep and stick.

The creature struggled, but it quickly slowed, and then, stopped all together.

Keeping one hold of it and his knife, Ezra kicked trying to reorient himself. He felt light headed, and found it hard to tell which way was up.

He tried to still his mind, he sensed the mist, there, that was above, or behind him, pressing down on the water as if it knew Ezra was hiding in the water. The oxygen feed was getting thinner, and Ezra realised with a pang he might have emptied the canisters struggling with the creature. Panic began to fill his chest, pressure squeezed his body and he desperately wanted to be out of the water that instant.

Something tugged on his brain, and he followed it without a second thought.

He kicked blindly, heading deeper, until something solid brushed against his arms. He jerked back at first, then realized it was a tree root. He could feel rocks under his feet.  
The pull grew stronger as his lungs began to burn, so he didn't question himself when he began to burrow through the slippery roots. He tightened his hold on both the knife blade and the creature's tail and pushed his shoulders against the wall of roots and water-plants.

The reeds scratched his hands and neck, but he felt like he was close to where he needed to be. He kicked off the rocks and forced himself between two thick roots, and suddenly broke through.

His ears popped and he sucked in a breath of unfiltered air with a raspy noise. He kicked off and tried to stand, feeling the sloping ground support him.

He dragged himself, and his waterlogged backpack out of the water. He collapsed onto the ground and breathed like he'd just made another Pit run.

When his head had stopped spinning and the water had vacated his ears, Ezra sat up and looked around.

It was dark, this tiny space he had clawed his way into, which he only knew because the night-vision in his helmet saturated everything in green.

It was some sort of underground cave. A little pocket in the earth roughly seven feet wide. The ceiling and walls were made entirely of tree roots, hanging down and grazing his shoulders. The air was warm and wet here, scented with soil and mildew; a welcome change to the chill outside. Ezra got the sense he was still several feet under ground.

He blinked in surprise and he looked down at his hands.

His knees were still dangling in the water, and partly because of the weight across his lap. It was a fish, and a big one at that. Long and narrow with a thick head and sharp yellow fins running down its sides and back. One hand was wrapped tight around the narrow tail, and the other was gripping the handle of his vibro-blade, stuck deep in the neck of the fish, right through the gills. Its large glassy eyes started blindly up and Ezra struggled to push it off his legs and roll it onto the sandbar. Once freed from the fish, he pushed the straps of his backpack off. It hit the ground with a squelchy sound and Ezra followed suit, collapsing on his back, his boots still floating at the edge of the water.

Ezra stared, unwilling to believe his luck. Something told him, that for the first time in many days; he was _safe._

* * *

The mission at Nyrue was a simple dock and dash, it was a strategy the Crew of the Ghost hadn't been able to use since Lothal had been locked down. Their skills were more then enough to complete the job, but they couldn't shake the feeling that they were short handed. The medical transport was woefully unprotected. So much so, that Hera and Kanan were immediately on their guard. They made a distress call, claiming to be an imperial escort that deemed it necessary to confiscate the cargo vessel, pirates had damaged their ship.

The transport barley had four bucket heads between it, and only nine crew members. Zeb smashed the buckets together and Kanan and Sabine forced the crew into a vacant cargo hatch.

Sabine reprogrammed the holds magnets and the cargo was released into free space, where Hera collected it along the belly of the Ghost. Sabine then released a distress beacon from the transport, damaged the security feed, and the Crew sped away.  
The mission took twenty minutes.

The hyper-jump to rendezvous with the fleet took longer. Kanan locked himself in his cabin, leaving Zeb to pace and Sabine to fly through all her data pads again, rewinding and replaying portions of the feed. As they were docking with the command ship, Ahsoka comm'd them to let them know Chopper had found more feed with Ezra on it, so Zeb and Sabine were the first out the airlock door.

"Kanan!" Hera grabbed Kanan's arm.

Kanan spun, barely containing his frustration, preparing for the argument he knew had been building for days.

Before he could reply, her hold on his bicep softened.

"You are not responsible for this."

The words were exactly what he'd needed. He could feel his muscles loosening like knots being pulled undone. But he couldn't let go of the feeling entirely.

"I know." he answered tersely, trying to pull away but she held him firmly in place. She looked straight into his eyes.

"Then stop thinking you're the only one who can fix it."

"But as his master, I'm responsible for him!" Kanan clipped each word tightly. He'd never felt so liable. He'd never felt so helpless. There were no leads. His Padawan had vanished, expect for the constant reminder on the holo-feed.

Hera squared her jaw. "We're ALL responsible for Ezra."

"But he's my Padawan." Kanan said, failing to explain his guilt. "I'm connected to him. He's connected to me. There should be something! I should know how to find him. "

Ashoka appeared from around the corner, clearly having overheard the outburst.  
"When I was a Padawan, I got kidnapped by Tradoshan slavers and brought to three sectors away to Wasskah. My master couldn't locate me. And he had Master Obi Wan and Master Plo Koon helping him." She approached the two. "We can't always make the force work the way we want it to sometimes." Even though she chided him, she wore a thin smile of support.

"I just hoped… there would be _something._ Some sense of him." Kanan threw his hands up, and then tightened them into fists before anyone could see his hands tremble. "Not this... _lacking_!"

"And there may be yet." Ahsoka started walking down the hall. "Let's see what Chopper put together. I just got a new transmission in as well. My agent said it wasn't much, but maybe some of this will start to add up."

"Yes, lets look at this as a _Team_." Hera pulled Kanan's arm along.

With an effort, Kanan unclenched his jaw. "Alright."

When the crew finally gathered around the holo-deck, they could see Chopper had indeed been busy. The fleet's holo-deck had superior data portals, and for the last several hours, Chopper had been compiling all the broadcast footage of Candidate Six in a single data-file.

They finally got to see what happened on the edge of the cliff with Candidate Eight.

"That little lothrat!" Zeb growled, impressed, watching Ezra's surprise lunge that toppled the Trandoshan over the cliff.

Kanan watched the feed play at double time. Over a matter of minutes, the boy's movements devolved from a terror filled sprint through the trees to a weary walk, to an aimless stumble. His face was hidden from view by the helmet, but his movements grew sluggish and the path he was cutting through the woods became less clear. They watched the boy travel in a wide shaky loop and pass the same tree twice without showing any signs of recognition.

"Hmmmm." Hera leaned in looking at her exhausted and de-hydrated lost crew member. "By the date stamp here, its already been officially 34 republic hours since the start of the Trial. But this looks like its only been one day."

Sabine stepped up and looked at the data feed, dialling back to look at the light. They watched the feed fast forward and fast rewind over the scant three minutes of footage as he passed out almost face first into the dingy puddle he'd found. Ezra had been the only fodder candidate to find a water source so far. "The light is really odd if it's a planet or a satellite lit by a sun." Sabine played with it a little more. "Chop, could you do some calculations on that and see if its natural or artificial from what we can see on the feed?"

Chopper burbled from his position at the data port and presumably started to work on Sabine's request.

"And the plants and trees." Zeb crossed his arms. "I've been on a lot of planets, I've never seen anything like them."

"Well, those are rang-dor berries. I recognise those, they grow on Kashyyyk." Ashoka slowed the feed when Ezra appeared again, trying berries and then contemplating the worm. "But none of the trees look like they come from Kashyyyk. If anything, they remind me of the plant life on Felucia."

Kanan winced as he watches the image of Ezra spit out the worm and make a face. He almost wanted to smile as the kid ranted and trudged onwards. Another time skip, brought the scene back to Ezra, verbally congratulating himself on his quick thinking. The fishing trap was simple, but effective, and Kanan reminded himself not to dwell on the boys ingenuity.

"Stop." Ashoka put a hand out. Rewind that.

Kanan looked at her, puzzled, as the feed replayed Ezra muttering under his breath in varying tones of sarcasm him eating the four little fish again.

Ashoka scrolled the feed forward. One of the other fodder candidates came into view. It was the Ithorian, scrabbling at a Cliffside, stumbling about, dehydrated and delirious, clearly weeping. But there was no sound to the feed. "The makers are letting Ezra's microphones playback what he's saying."

Sabine scrolled forward through two more candidates in visible distress, likely due to dehydration. But again, no sound, just the monotonous tribal soundtrack that played in the background that made Kanan want to grind his teeth every time he heard it.

"That new transmission I got was from an agent on the techno-stop near Burnin Konn, he found a book keeper that had run numbers for one of our little betting cantinas. The book keeper said that there's been a lot of betting on Candidate Six. No one's backing him to live more than a few days, but he's getting a lot of screen requests."

"Why?" Sabine frowned worriedly. "He's just like any other fodder candidate?" She slowed the feed when it came back to Ezra, walking. And again, over the feed soundtrack, came Ezra's snarky comments.

"Leatherhead. Sawtooth. Angry salamander! Ha!…"

"Because he's _entertaining_." Ashoka frowned and the air in the cabin grew agitated.

The feed switched over to the Nikto tracking footprints in the mud. Sabine sped it up through a pan over the Massassi in the grasslands and the dug creating more brutal traps. The Gotal was also trying to track other competitors. The Trandoshan had finally settled in the most swamp-like territory the crew had seen yet. The backpack he'd killed the Bothan woman for had supplied him with dehydrated protein packs and a bacta-patch for his shoulder. He hadn't had much in the way of screen time since his failed attack on Ezra and the murder of the Bothan girl, but he was still too injured to prove much of a threat over distance for now. There was a short flash on screen of the Xexto boy, seen appearing from some hidden place and raiding the Arcona woman's supply pack, left neglected on a stone while she slept. The boy rummaged for mere few seconds before dashing away, leaving the sleeping candidate unharmed, and hadn't been seen on screen since.

There hadn't been any more footage of Ezra when the sky had turned completely dark. The time stamp read 30 hours, when it suddenly flicked over to a bot announcer hovering in front of a screen with the crossed blades of the survivalist game logo behind it.

"Stop!" the crew called, and Sabine hit a button.

"...been some time since the last canon," the robotic voice hummed, "A very generous backer has decided to up the ante and narrow the playing field, as this is the survival of the fittest. A random selection of the candidates will be exposed to a new environmental threat."

Hera and Ahsoka exchanged dark looks, as the holo feed separated into several camera views, highlighting each in turn, until one lit up brightly and the feed narrowed in. It was the Gotal, clambering over some boulders, struggling to stay on his feet.

"Candidate 16." The bot confirmed excitedly. "We will now begin introducing a newly engineered weapon crafted solely for use in the arena."

As he spoke, a thin trail of smoke could be seen rising into the air from a crack in between two boulders, only a few feet behind the Gotal. The candidate didn't notice, trudging onward as the vapour line began to thicken in a matter of seconds, billowing over the rocks in a thick fog.

"This new weapon is constructed of airborne nano-particial technology. It corrodes bio-matter, often resulting in an exothermic reaction, not unlike the biochemistry of the T7-Ion disruptor..."

Sabine seemed to understand the chemistry first, growing first red faced with fury and then ghost white as she connected the dots. "Those _Demagolka_!" She spun around, eyes wide. "The ...the candidates don't stand a chance! There's no way to escape that!"

She pointed at the cloud forming on the screen, building upward instead of out and towering over the Gotals stumbling form like some awful shadow.

The feed switched back to the bot announcer, "Remember, you too can alter the outcome of this great and mighty match up. Become part of history. Boost your candidate's chances with a support drop or alter the odds with environmental incentives. See your betting agent for further opportunities. This concludes the announcement portion of our broadcast. All betting agencies will be closed for the next fifteen minutes. Good Hunting."

As soon as the announcer bot dispersed, the poison cloud exploded into movement.

The fog billowed over the Gotal, who had no idea, and no time to prepare for the attack. His body was half blanketed before the reactions started to take place. The holo-feed made sure to capture every last second of the Gotal's body convulsing and swelling before it finally burst and was covered by the cloud. The microphone had been on for every gory microsecond of the Gotal's wasting death and over it, the boom of a cannon sounded.

Sabine's cheeks went grey, and her eyes glassy. Zeb stepped back and sat down, eyes closed, his mind reeling with fresh and old horrors. Kanan's grip on the edge of the holo-projector might have caused damage, had the railing not been made out of steelum.

Hera covered her mouth with her hand and turned away, putting her back to the projection and breathing uneven.

"Okay. We've got to figure this out. Lots of cantinas are on mining worlds or engineering facilities. None of the major crime families support this. How can they be an unknown entity and do this over and over again?" She looked up at Ashoka, "If Azmorigan knew how to enter Ezra, wouldn't others know?" She spun to look at Sabine, "Any word from Ketsu?" Sabine blinked blankly in response. "Kanan, what about Vizago?"

Kanan wasn't looking at Hera, instead he was glued to the feed, where the camera had followed the spread of the purple mist through the woods, sloping down the rocky canyon walls. It travelled fast, at least half a mile before finally meeting with a stream. The mist moved even along the water surface, reaching a steep wall of rock. On a ledge, at the edge of the holo-frame, was the ever so small fodder Candidate Six.

"No." Kanan breathed.

Ezra had apparently sensed the danger, coming to the screen as he was frantically packing his camp. The mist arrived moving faster than before, just as the boy began to flee. He turned to face the threat, and suddenly the panic evaporated from the boys posture as he stared, now more curious then afraid. Of course, it just looked like a fog cloud to the kid.

"Move, Kid." Zeb growled low in his throat. His eyes wide with outrage.

Hera's breathing hitched.

Kanan felt the chill climbing up his spine, but before he could truly start to panic, something small jumped into the mist's path, and quickly exploded.

Ezra face blanched, and he turned and bolted.

He fled for several minutes, not managing to put any real distance between himself and the mist. The crew watched with their hearts in their throats as he slipped and skid over the rocks in a panic. Then he'd made a mistake. He'd gotten ahead of himself, and cornered himself at the edge of a large dark pool.

Kanan was sure the boy was going to make a break for the shore, but his jittery moments made it clear he was still unsure. He looked over his shoulder, as the fog closed in. The cam had followed Ezra as he fled, zooming in for a close up when Ezra realised he had cornered himself against the canyon wall the mist; waiting for the opportune moment.

And then, Ezra did something surprising. The crew stared as Ezra straightened up, and jumped into the water, boots first, backpack and all. He sank below the dark surface with a splash, and the mist swooped in blanketing the water surface from view.

The feed had been tense, hovering at the water's edge and waiting for the inevitable. The holo feed began to fill with mist, until nothing could be seen beyond the purple cloud.

Several minutes later, when no cannon came, it was clear Ezra had found a way to escape the threat under the surface.

Everyone in the room breathed a dizzying sigh of relief.

The holofeed was anything but calm however. There was something frantic about the multiple views the camera operator switched through, scanning the canyon wall to the far bank and the water's surface, that told the crew that game makers had not expected this to be possible. More minutes ticked by, and the holocam search widened downstream. They were looking for him!

"Kriffing Hell," Zeb muttered peering close, his face flushed. "He's found the only spot in the entire arena without a camera feed!"

Sabine stiffly reached for the controls, fast forwarding through the feed to see if the camera went back to Ezra. Instead they saw the mist hovering along the water line for several minutes, before finally dispersing into the air as if it had evaporated. It had killed only a single candidate, apparently wasting the small window of time it had in existence searching for Ezra.

"Skip the rest of the footage. Just show me when Ezra next appears."

"Bweep, bwop." Chopper warbled, moving for the first time since the playback had begun.

"That's it?" Sabine was frustrated. "There's no more feed of Ezra? But there's at least nine more hours of play here."

"Bwop, bwop, bweep."

"Come on!" Sabine tossed her hands up.

Hera stepped back and sighed. "Well, at least there wasn't a canon."

"No, but not much else either." Ashoka sat down herself and pinched her chin, her expression troubled.

"He's safe." Kanan said suddenly, opening his eyes and relaxing his hands around the railing. He stepped back from the holodeck. His posture loosening, and his shoulder drooped.

Everyone looked up at him, and he grimaced. "It feels... damp. But he's safe." Kanan tossed his hands up, and shook his head. "But this isn't getting us anywhere." He started to rub his eyes. "No, I haven't heard from Vizago." He swung around to face Hera. "He doesn't deal with slaves. I don't expect to hear anything from him, to be honest. He's got no love for us or Ezra after the whole Broken Horn hijack affair. I think he's been as helpful as he could be already."

"And I don't even know if my transmission even got through to Ketsu." Sabine said, thumping her fist down on the arm rest of her chair.

"Do you think the Kid found a way out?" Zeb asked softly, hoping.

Sabine straightened, eyes flashing. "If _anyone_ could find a way out of there, its Ezra."

Ahsoka and Hera traded guarded looks, and Kanan's frown deepened.

"I don't think so." Ahsoka began gently. "The collar would have alerted the game-makers. Its probably got a tracking device and an electric shock function as well."

Sabine narrowed her eyes darkly at the frozen holo-feed, eyeing the strip of darker pixels under the boys face. "That's not a shock collar." She spoke out loud.

"No?" Ahsoka asked.

Sabine pulled up a sharper image. She accessed the holonet data channel and pulled up several more images with the flick of few keys. "See this?" she pointed between the images. "The power pack on the main candidates collars is much thicker. This one isn't rigged for electricity..." her words died in her mouth as she spoke, suddenly seeing the circuits and wires the smooth collar had prevented her from seeing clearly.

"It's a bomb. Its an explosive charge." Sabine said, and the room went quiet.

"Are you sure?" Ahsoka asked, but she did not sound surprised.

Sabine nodded, and closed her mouth. "Yes. I can't believe I didn't see it before."

"An insurance policy." Hera sighed

Zeb rumbled deep in his chest and Chopper remained silent.

Kanan just turned on his heels and marched out of the room, heading for his quarters. He needed to meditate.

* * *

That night, Ezra ate the fish raw. He hacked it into untidy chunks with the vibro-blade, picking the thin clear bones out with his teeth, spitting them into the water and scraping the meat from the scales. He had plonked the head of the fish down on a rock. In the dark, its huge front facing eyes and the little sharp beak looked malicious through the night vision of his helmet.

"It's only fair." he told the glassy eyes."You took a bite outta me first." he pointed to his calf, which now had a small chunk missing out of the back of his leg. He had debated on using one of the bacta patches on the wound. It was small, but bled easily and would be hard to keep from infection if he couldn't get it to close. But after much thought on the matter, he'd decided to put it off, and instead sheared a line of plastic off the tarp and tied it tightly around the gouge.

The dead sturgeon didn't reply to the jab and while Ezra hadn't expected it to, a small piece of him was suddenly disappointed that all he had for company was a dead fish.

He dumped the fish bones and the head into the water and resolved not to talk to his food any more.

He'd laid out the remains of the plastic tarp, and shook the wetness out of the sleeping bag.

His belly was full to bursting and his chest was warm with pride. He remembered this, a feeling of accomplishment that was due to no one but himself. Usually, the reminder might have made him a little sad, but for now, he clung to it. He felt confident, and stronger then he had in days. He had surely surpassed anyone's expectations of him by now. Maybe he actually stood a chance at this ridiculous mess of a Trial. Maybe now he could work on some sort of escape plan.

He knew his positive attitude wouldn't last long, so he was going to enjoy it while he could. His body temperature was already heating up the small space and his eyes had begun to droop.

Ezra settled down in his damp sleeping bag, nestling into the warm dank roots and closed his eyes.

* * *

 **R &R** for Good Karma and a rich pay off for the Trial Officials.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN:** Surprise! I hope this makes someones day!

I want to say how _thankful_ I am for all the support and patience you've all given me over the last 6 months. I know it's been a long time but I never gave up, and every time I got a review or message I was spurred back into writing. I'm working on the rest of it still, and I really want to finish this. So don't give up on me and I'll keep doing me best!

Let me know what you think about the new chapter, and if the writing style or feel for the dialog has changed.

 _Thanks always_ to Meepicheep and CounterweightingDeath for the constant support.

 **The Survival Trials**  
Chapter 16

* * *

Ezra woke when something slick moved across his neck.

Everything hurt for some reason and all he wanted was to roll over in his bunk and go back to sleep. It was dark and warm here and he was still so tired. His first instinct was to brush the itch away with a sleepy mumble.

"Go'way Zeb. Lemme sleep."

The tickle didn't stop, pulling Ezra from his sleep with an irritable growl.

Ezra opened his eyes, fully prepared to launch into an argument with his bunk mate, but a mass of colourful scales down one side of his mask put a stopper in his words. He was instantly awake and his whole body went ridged.

Ezra waited an agonizing long time for the snake to pass over him, the weight of it making his helmet shift.

Finally the tail, capped with a thin barb at the end, slithered away into the roots. Ezra counted to ten, before leaping to his feet and shaking his arms about enthusiastically while his skin crawled.

"Blegh! Kriff me."

He made a mental note to clear away some of the damp roots before bedding down in a snake nest again.

He took his time tidying up the camp, rolling his still damp sleeping bag and rechecking his supplies. He debated whether he should leave the safety of the earthy cave at all, before rationalizing that couldn't spend all his time sitting in a mud pit waiting to go hungry. Besides, he couldn't waste his helmet's power cells using the night vision constantly. He needed to consider a light source.

Ezra slung his backpack over his shoulders and slid back into the water. He hissed at the sudden change of temperature but pushed through the shock, taking one last deep gulp of air before diving.

He broke the surface of the pool with more noise than he'd intended, but a quick survey of the bank told him he was alone.  
The sunlight was back, centered high in the sky, but there was still a sense of early morning in the air. How long had he been hiding?

As he climbed out, he pulled off the helmet and shook the water out his ears. He was suddenly struck by the thought that perhaps this might be his first appearance on the holocam since his, likely dramatic, disappearance under the water. A surge of excitement filled him.

He forced a grin and put up both hands as if welcoming the cheers from an unseen audience.

"Nice try guys! But the Leatherback's morning breath was more frightening then that! When do the real challenges start? Can I expect assassin droids at noon?"

The last remark was probably pushing his luck, but it was too late to take it back now. He dropped his arms with a shrug, hoping he looked more bored then unsettled, and pulled the helmet back over his ears.

He had a feeling it was his lucky day

* * *

Hera had stayed on board the Liberator to attend a briefing with the rest of the rebel fleet captains, so the crew had gotten to work with the everyday maintenance of the Ghost. But the feed was left running on the holo-projector in the common room. Somehow, one or another would find themselves there in-between jobs. Kanan stopped after the steering check, the rudder had taken a hit from the Nuyrue job and needed an adjustment. Hera would want to double check that, but it was only a few moments in front of the screen before Sabine walked through as she finished the diagnostic check of the weapons system. Kanan left to check the ship's life support and environmental controls passing Zeb who had just cleaned the hold where a crate had cracked open and a couple gallons of bacta had leaked. Between the three, they kept a running tab of what was going on in the arena.

Three more deaths had taken place, there were only 12 candidates left.

Candidate Twenty had rushed the Nikto, only to be shot through with the arena's only blaster. Candidates Three and seventeen had both separately fallen victim to one of the Dug's traps, and while Three had managed to escape with only minor injuries, Seventeen had not been so lucky.

The most unfortunate end of all had come to the Corellian man, a fodder candidate labeled eleven.

He had literally stumbled smack into the Massassi's camp, blind and half mad with exhaustion.

The end had been... messy, and slow. Before the man could finish screaming on screen, Hera, who had just arrived shipboard, reached down and switched the Holo-feed off.

"We don't need a reminder of whats at stake," She said, looking at their weary faces. "Chopper's recording, we won't miss anything."

It was Sabine who later found the first glimpse of Ezra dialing through the day's feed as the crew sat down to eat together, a rare occurrence these past few days.

The holofeed had been broadcasting a gritty image of the Trandoshan, still apparently too injured to move from the hovel he'd built himself in the marsh, when it cut to the brightly lit clearing along the edge of the water.

The Ghost Crew froze in their seats as they watched, the peace was broken as a grey helmet burst to the surface. The Kid visibly flailed in the water for a few moments, before seeming to find his bearings and making for the shore.

"Karablast!" Zeb swore, dropping his waffle from his fork. "The Kid's back!"

"Shush." Hera hushed him, critically observing the figure climbing awkwardly onto the water bank. The boy kicked his soaked boots and shook water from his arms and from under the helmet, then he stood up straight and looked around him, as if he could see the cams. The crew were startled as he addressed the audience.

"When do the real challenges start?"

His challenge to the holo-feed made Kanan grimace, no doubt, that the boy had by now caught the interest of the entire gambling ring. Whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.

Ezra spent the morning fishing by hand.

A little further down the stream, the water lost its speed and formed a series of slow moving pools tucked between larger boulders. Tall reed grasses grew along the waterway's edge, forming a wall several feet thick. It was enough of a barrier that Ezra felt safe as he was likely to get. He stashed his backpack in a cranny between three large boulders that formed a little island out in the middle of the stream and opened the faceplate of his light shining off the water and the fresh air on his face made him feel more refreshed than he had in weeks. The dull throb in his calf where the sturgeon had taken a bite out of him still ached to stand on. He spent the morning wading through the water that came up to his navel.

After his battle with the sturgeon, he was no longer afraid of what might be in the water. The light shone high and lit up the river bottom. Algae carpeted the sunken tree roots and stones, but his boots kept him from slipping.

There were fish everywhere.

Not the small guppies he'd swallowed whole the day before, or the sharp finned sturgeon. These were medium sized, about the length of his hands with long whiskers sprouting from their chins.  
They glittered yellow and brown as they darted in and out of the reeds. A few brave ones came to investigate the boy standing in the mud, and gave an experimental gummy nibble on his fingers or boots before darting away.

He first tried letting a fish approach, then ducking his hands into the cold water, trying to nab it. He spent most of the morning grabbing water. He hadn't managed to touch one, they were just too fast. His wet boots chafed and his fingers had long ago gone numb, but he was eager to keep trying. He took a break on the rocks with his back pack, hoping he would dry out a little, taking the helmet off for a few moments.

Sitting down, he realized while the sunlight was bright, he didn't feel the usual burn on his cheeks like the suns on most planets. He squinted at the sky, still unable to judge how far along the day was.

He put the helmet back on and moved to a new location, carefully stashing the backpack in another cranny near a large flat boulder on the river's edge. Back fishing again, a smile kept trying to pull at his lips, every time the fish circled back, toying with him. For the first time since his capture, he was almost (dare he even think it?) ...having fun.

They were too large and quick to catch with a tarp and some rocks, but Ezra wasn't worried. His belly was still full from his meal the night before.

Even if he caught nothing, it was still better than sitting around waiting to get run through. He was sick of wandering aimless and afraid.

He stilled as one larger fish, swam between his feet. It darted around his leg and skimmed past his knee.

Ezra drove for it, sending a splash of water across his faceplate, and the cloud of fish that had surrounded him darted out of reach to the deeper parts of the river. He wiped the veiwports dry with his sleeve, and returned to standing still.

He wondered half heartedly, if the Crew were watching him and what they'd think of his new found hobby... Then he shook his head. There was nothing good down that road.

He hoped, beyond hoping, that the crew wasn't watching. He didn't want them to see him struggling, or to see whatever lay ahead.

* * *

Kanan crossed his arms and sighed and waiting for the holo to flicker between the Candidates as it had been all day. The Trials had been unsettlingly calm the last few hours. He had watched as the Dug had finished carving another pit deep in the earth and lined the bottom with sharpened reeds while at another location the Massassi was sharpening a deadly looking throwing axe.

But for the most part, Kanan did his best to ignore the other Candidates and concentrated on his meditation. It was easier to ignore the feeling of dread eating at him while he focused on trying to pinpoint his Padawan. He had hoped he might have more success if he could see Ezra on the holo in front of him.

Since his dramatic reappearance early that evening, Candidate Six had received more holotime then anyone on board was comfortable with. Evidently, his challenge to the gambling underworld had paid off, since the feed had cut to the boy several times since. So Kanan waited, keeping an even rhythm on his breathing, which was harder to do then expected as his heart rate spiked each time the feed flickered.

When it did this next time, the feed was now focused on a boy in the middle of a river, sitting on some rocks.

Kanan straightened and was reaching for the communicator to call everyone else, when he stopped.  
The cams zoomed in on Ezra's face and Kanan was struck speechless.

Ezra had removed the helmet for a few brief minutes while he rested, and for the first time since the Candidate's Review, Kanan had a clear view of the boy's face.

Ezra looked haggard. His blue eyes were sunken and stayed open wide even in the bright glare off the water. Where Kanan might have once said was a mischievous glint in the kids eyes, was now a wild sort of anxiousness, like a lothcat waiting to bolt.

The blue tattoo stood out against his bare scalp. The bold inked edge and still irritated patches of dry red skin made it difficult for Kanan to keep his temper rising. Now all the painful migraines that had plagued him only a few days ago made a dark sort of sense. It wasn't just stress.

All this time he'd been terrified of his lack of connection with his Padawan, and only now the signals were coming clear.

It was born from a grim revelation, but now Kanan had hope.

He was still connected to Ezra, the boy's pain and panic reached for him, now he only needed to learn how to reach back. He reached for the communicator.

"Available crew to the holoterminal."

No one answered, but he heard sounds of projects being put aside, and what might have been crates dumped down in the cargo hold.

On the feed, Ezra shoved his helmet on, moved his pack, and waded out to fish again further downstream. Hera silently scooted onto the bench next to Kanan watching Ezra as he stilled to concentrate.

The holo figure moved suddenly, diving, his hand shooting into the water, snapping it back, empty handed.

"Karablast." he muttered, the collars mic airing the mumble clear as day through the feed. The kid waded deeper into the water, shifting his helmet around his ears.

Coming into the room, Zeb smiled thinly at the boy's choice of swear, watching through narrowed eyes, his arms folded tight against his chest. Kanan noted their Mandalorian's absence with understanding, she was busy with her own projects.

Chopper joined them just as the holo feed flickered again, and Ezra was gone. The Crew watched for another moment, before collectively and silently turning back to their tasks.

Later, that evening, as they watched the feed on play-back. It was easy to forget the murderous horrors they'd witnessed only hours before. The scenic imagery of the boy peacefully wading through the water trying to teach himself to fish brought a feeling of calm, a stark contrast to the blood and battle of the rest of the Arena.

The boy refocused on the still surface, apparently watching the fish circle his ankles. The mask was back in place, but they read his posture, relaxed and focused on the water. Kanan saw the boy's shoulder visibly relax and rise in a familiar pattern. He's meditating, Kanan realized, sitting up straight, unable to help the small twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

The kid slowly coiled his arm into his chest, hovering his hand over the water and waited, barely moving.

They watched the boy's arm snap down and back with a splash, and he seemed as surprised as they were to see a skinny fish wriggling in his hand.

He gasped, and quickly swiped the faceplate back, revealing an enormous grin. He clutch the fish proudly out in front of him as he made his way back to the bank and sank down onto a rock.

The Ghost crew collectively smiled at the raw smile they all missed.

They all jumped when Ezra took the head of the wriggling fish in two hands, and snapped the creature's neck with a sharp twist.

"Better you than me." Ezra told it, and deftly slid the vibroknife out of his boot and jammed the tip into the belly and raggedly sliced it open.

The action was clean, and without hesitation. A hyperjump's distance from the boy who'd cringed at eating a worm alive just the day before.

What had happened to him while he'd hidden from the holocams? The crease returned between Kanan's eyes, and Hera lips twitched downwards as they watched the kid scoop the fish's innards out with the tip of his knife.

Was Ezra already changing?

* * *

The smaller fish had far less bones than the longer one had, and Ezra found it much easier to fillet it into chewable pieces. When he was done, he ate a few pieces carefully before laying the rest out on top of the a smooth flat rock that was warm from soaking in the light. He hoped that drying the meat would give it more of leathered texture, like the meats cured in the markets. If he could dry it maybe it would keep fresh enough to be eaten at a later date. If Ezra could stockpile his food, he could stay longer in the underwater cave.

He had briefly entertained the notion of trying to make a small fire that he could keep burning low in a corner of the cave. But after he'd spent an hour of the morning trying to think around the problem of transporting dry materials through the underwater path to the cave, he realized, a fire in the small space would quickly eat up all his oxygen. The last thing he needed was to suffocate in his sleep, hidden away so even the cam's couldn't find him.

He pushed away the idea, and set about catching more fish. He was surprised that the first one had not been a fluke. Only half an hour into wading in the shallow water, he managed to catch a second. He filleted it like the first, and decided to try his luck for a third.

The day was warm, and the glare of the light overhead began to wane well before he'd managed to catch his last fish for the day.

A tickle at the back of his mind had him spinning around, suddenly wary he was being watched. But each time he looked, the bank was clear. He tried to focus his senses into the shadows of the trees, but each time he came up empty. I'm just being paranoid because I'm trapped on a planet populated with murderers. He told himself firmly. Nothing to worry about. This is no different then trying to sleep while Chop is around...

The feeling had got his skin crawling though and he was more then ready to call it a day by the time his fingers finally grabbed hold of the scaly thing.

He collected the backpack and made his way back towards the shore, picking water weed off his legs and kicking the mud off his boots. His damp suit chaffed in all the wrong places.

"I sure hope I don't get a rash some place unpleasant." He told the air with a smirk. No one answered of course, but he liked to think someone in the audience appreciated his humour.

Reaching his temporary camp, he stopped short and blinked, staring down at the flat rock where he'd left the slices of fish to dry.

There were two pieces missing.

Ezra locked his knees and immediately cast out his awareness. He didn't dare close his eyes.

The river bubbled quietly to his right, but the trees were still, which only served to make the silence heavier. Ezra frowned and reached out with the same sensation he used when trying to connect with other beings. All he needed was a half second's head start and a direction he should run in. He thought about the blade in his boot, mentally preparing himself to make a dash for it….

Suddenly, there was a blip of fear from high in the trees, not in front of him, but above him... almost directly overhead.

A feeling of panic swelled in Ezra's gut, but he knew it wasn't his. It belonged to the presence in the trees.

Ezra blinked a few times, forced his knees to unlock, and with an over exaggerated shrug he dumped his latest catch and turned around and headed back towards the river.

He waded deep, keeping his movement slow and careful. After a few minutes, he slowly meandered around the bend in the river reeds. Though he acted as if he were looking for more fish, he kept a careful hold on the small and frightened being's presence in the force, all the while keeping his eyes on the water.

The further away Erza drew, t he felt the being's fear diminish

As soon as Ezra was completely out of sight of the tree, he dove to the far end of the river bank and took off as quickly as he could through the trees.

He followed the orange brier patches that grew along the bank, making a large circle around to the flat rock. As he drew closer, he slowed his pace and began to weave between the trees. He thought about how he approached a target in the market with the intent of picking their pockets. He would casually zigzag, working his way towards the mark, melting into the crowds before anyone might realize what was wrong.

Ezra softened his steps and crept as quietly as he could to a patch of scrub and crouched low to the ground.

From here, Ezra had a clear view of the river bank between the trees. He closed the faceplate of his helmet and the world around him came into sharp focus. There was no breeze, but the targeting system immediately located a temporary shiver of movement in the leaves. He zoomed in with the scope and waited.

Reaching out with the force and letting out a steady breath, he tried to focus. He could sense fear and anxiety, but now it was paired with... desperation? He was certain now, this was no murderous hunter, this was a fellow fodder candidate!

Ezra waited until his knees began to ache but there were no more signs of life. The heat sensors confirmed that his target hadn't managed to escape, but from this distance he couldn't be certain. He had to be sure before he made any approach.

Finally, Ezra was considering a more full frontal tactic, when the movement sensors spied something glinting in the sunlight.

The speck lowered from a branch midway up the tree, where the heat signature flared and pulsed. It dropped smoothly towards the ground and as it turned gently in the air, the scope defined its shape; a silver hook on a thin line.

It took a few tries but Ezra watched with growing anticipation as the hook was lowered and dragged across the rock, finally catching a white fillet by the skin and hauling it quickly up into the air. At it reached the leaves, Ezra saw a thin grey hand snatch it up.

He recognised that hand. It was candidate 7, the Xexto boy.

That little sneaky thief! He thought, a wild grin breaking out on his face. The apples of his cheeks ached and he realised he hadn't smiled properly in weeks. Then the smile slid away.

Why hadn't Ezra sensed him before? Was the kid simply not a threat? Or was Ezra being careless assuming he could rely on his senses to alert him? He should never have lowered the faceplate!

Ezra stood up carefully, withdrawing away from the bank, thinking about how to approach the situation. His heart was pounding with excitement.

He decided to use a slow approach. He needed to be... delicate. He couldn't make any mistakes, he couldn't afford to scare the kid off.

Over the next hour, though the light was dimming he waded in the water, sometimes making a snatch for a fish.

Luck was with him, and he made a fourth catch for the day shortly after entering the water. Now that he'd had time to learn the right form, his aim and speed were getting better. He was starting to predict their patterns, it was like sensing movement in the Force.  
At this rate, he needn't worry about food for some time.

He returned to the flat stone and cleaned his catch, butterflying the fillets. He lay two pieces out purposefully on the rock, and then instead of shoving it back into his boot, Ezra made sure to put the vibro-knife out on clear display on the other side, out of immediate reach.

After a moment's hesitation, he pressed the button on the side of his helmet opening the faceplate. It's a calculated risk, he told himself firmly, a show of trust.

He took a deep breath, and then pulled the helmet off and lay it at his side. The sweat on his face began to cool, and Ezra closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the feeling that he was suddenly the centre of attention.

To distract himself, he sat down on his rump, trying to look comfortable, and began chewing on the last piece of the fish.

Ezra was used to eating the fish raw now. The texture was soft and rubbery and the meat turned into mince on his tongue. He preferred the sweetness of fruit, or a nice spicy protein pack. But he'd grown accustomed to the fish.

"What I'd give for some Koba Sauce right now." He said loudly though his food, imagining what the sweet salty sauce would do for his meal. He hummed thoughtfully while he chewed.

There was no answer.

Ezra swallowed his mouthful, then taking a deep breath, he steeled his fluttering nerves. Staring straight ahead into the sand.

"I'm loath to admit it." he started, his voice sounded rough in his ears at this volume and he cleared his throat. "I'm pretty proud of my light fingers. But, I'll accept it; you got the best of me. You're a pretty good thief. Patient too."

He took another bite, listing to the silence.

"I think you've been up there all day. Am I right?"

The river gurgled peacefully.

"More?"

Silence.

"Well, anyway, I'm going to keep catching fish and I'll keep leaving them here. I don't mind the extra work. I've got the time." He snorted at his joke, popping the last of his morsel into his mouth with a lopsided smirk and chewed thoroughly before licking his fingers.

"But, I could use an extra hand to help out." and smiled ruefully and looked up into the canopy. "Or four." He added with a grin.

The trees was perfectly still, the leaves hanging limply in the still air. After a long tense moment, a section of greenery was pulled back and a narrow grey face with two large dark eyes peered down on him.

"How about it, _Seven_?" Ezra asked, making sure to keep his hands on his knees in clear sight. "You want to get outta this place with me?"

The boy winced, and then his face withdrew from view. Ezra was momentarily worried he'd said the wrong thing, made the wrong move, when two long grey limbs appeared out from the tree-line at the trunk and carried the Xexto to the ground. He stayed hidden behind the tree trunk for several seconds, then narrowly dipped his thin face around the tree.

He kept all four arms hidden behind the tree, shielding as much of himself as possible. He was dressed in the same dark jumpsuit and there was a chunky green and brown roll that looked like a sleeping bag strapped to his back.

"You can't escape." Seven said in a hoarse voice.

He needs water, Ezra realised, recognizing the dry rasp and the cracking along the other boys lips.

Ezra shrugged, and turned his face away from the kid and began digging through his backpack.

"Sure we can. This is just a really expensive prison camp. I've gotten out of worse." He lied without hesitation and used the lie to fuel his ongoing perseverance. He was going to get out of this place.

He found his water skin and the steelum cups. He poured water into two of them and placed one on the rock beside the fish.

"I had a Xexto buddy back on my home planet." he said conversationally, doing his best not to feel his heart drop. "He taught me how to pick pockets and everything else off a mark. If you wanted, I bet I could teach you some stuff too."

"How to Fish?"

Ezra turned, surprised at how close the other boy's voice was. He had crept closer while Ezra's back was turned and was reaching for one of the water cups. He withdrew a little, eyes wide as The other boy caught him in the act.

Ezra looked away, making sure not to pay attention to the steel cup clicking against the rock. This kid has some quiet feet, Ezra thought. Maybe once he's had a decent meal and some water; his hands might stop trembling.

"I dunno about that," Ezra said carefully. "I've only just started. I'm really just splashing around till I find something." he saw the grey hand replace the first cup and take the second from the corner of his eye. "But I could still try. I bet the bigger ones might take an liking to that hook you've got. We've got scraps to bait 'em. And I could teach you some other stuff."

Ezra refilled the empty cup, and was pleasantly surprised when the kid held out the second cup to be filled as well. He grinned.

"I bet you have your own tricks that have kept you going till now. Maybe you can teach me whatever you've picked up?"

Seven looked up sharply over his water cup and eyed Ezra with apprehension. Clearly questioning if he could risk trusting him any further. Ezra let him study his face, hoping now that he wouldn't startle the boy and offering him a soft hopeful smile.

When the boy didn't return it, Ezra let the smile drop.

"I'm sorry," he admitted, looking away, "for all the trouble I caused back with the inspection and ...for drawing attention to you in the line up. It was important we switch places."

He hoped the kid wouldn't ask why it was so important, because Ezra didn't know how to explain without risking intel on the crew.

The Xexto boy's eyes narrowed, searching Ezra's face for something to distrust. Finally, he gave a very slight nod and looked away.

Ezra recognized the defensive gesture. "You been on your own for a while, haven't you?"

Seven glared down into his water. "My... my uncle sold me to save the plantation. I got sent to the slavers. They... they said they wanted more...variety in the candidates. Too many humanoids already and I just... happened to be at the front of the line."

The admission surprised Ezra, who hadn't expected such honesty.  
"You got picked because you're a Xexto?" Ezra asked and huffed in agitation. "At least I got bought for payback. I guess I sort of deserved it a bit." he smiled very thinly and looked into the air. "I hope that fat red bastard is enjoying the show."

Seven tilted his head very slightly, like he was confused, but didn't push for information.

Ezra noticed and then frowned at the uneaten fish sitting on the rock. Seven saw his eyes and reached for the piece with a questioning look and Ezra nodded.

As Seven snatched the fish up with long grey fingers and chewed, Ezra drew in a slow breath.

"I haven't been to slavers... well, before all this anyway. But I've been on my own. It's not so bad; as long as you look out for yourself."

Seven was facing the water, chewing mindfully as he listened.

"But I can tell you from experience, it's way better to have someone looking out for you, and even better to look out for someone else." he extended a hand carefully, and Seven jerked in surprise. "What do you say, we work together on this? Partners?"

"Partners?" The Xexto dropped the last of his fish in shock. Then his expression grew thin. "For how long?"

Ezra blinked. "For as long as it takes to get outta here."

Seven looked apprehensively at the extended hand, and Ezra had to withhold the wince as his arm began to ache, but remained patient. His smiled, genuine and bare.

Seven studied him for another long moment, boring his opalescent eyes through him.

"We can do this Sev." Ezra said firmly, "Together; as a team."

The other boys mouth twitched into a weak smile.

Ezra felt a surge of confidence and grinned. "Six and Seven sounds like a good combo, right?"

"Okay." Hesitantly, Seven reached out put one of his hand in Ezra's. "Partners," he said, nodding.

Ezra let him judge how firmly he held on, and they shook once and then withdrew.

"Well," Ezra began brightly, "Now that that's sorted, how do you feel about underwater caves? I've kicked out all the snakes, I promise-well, most of them at least."

The Xexto boy smiled properly for the first time and Ezra was very happy he'd put in the effort to make it happen.

"I'm not a good swimmer." Seven admitted slowly, then he looked up thoughtfully into the trees, then back down to Ezra. "How are you at climbing?" he asked.

Ezra grinned.

* * *

"You sleep up here?" Ezra demanded, eyeing the branches swaying under their weight, and picking his way across.

Sleeping in the trees had never occurred to Ezra. He wasn't used to the thin perches and the branches moving under him. He could climb yes, but he didn't trust himself to sleep up here. Give him a flat rooftop or a grass field any day, but he didn't exactly have a lot of experience with trees.

"How come you don't fall out? What if you roll over in the night and…" Ezra made a squelching noise with his tongue. "And ' _boom_ ' goes the cannon?"

Seven grinned, and Ezra was thrilled his usual methods were working on the boy. Seven was essentially like all the other street kids Ezra had known growing up, and once had been, or still was. It was just nice to have someone to talk to again.

"I'll show you." Said Seven, climbing higher.

Ezra rechecked his pack and followed.

They found one of the tallest trees by the river and climbed so high that Ezra worried the tree would start to bend. It didn't of course, but nearly four levels high they did find a bough between two thick branches with lots of room between. Peering between his feet, Ezra couldn't even see the forest floor through the thick leaves, which was good news if another candidate past below and happened to look up.

Ezra watched from below as Seven scrambled deftly up the trunk. He pulled the green and brown roll off his back and unfurled it, revealing it to be a wide bulky tarp with steelum eyelets set into the seams. Seven laid it out across the two branches, a coil of cord was in the centre. The boy set about anchoring one end of the rope around the trunk and then weaving it through the eyelets and around the other branches. He did this to both sides, leaving one side open like an awning roof edge, but secured it to the branch above it.

Ezra stared at it, "You made ...a roof?" he asked dully. He almost started to say, 'You know I don't think it rains here…' but stopped, because he didn't know that, but thinking back to the purple mist, he hoped it didn't.  
He looked at the branches underneath the tarp, none looked comfortable let alone like they could be slept on. "Where do we sit?"

Seven gave him a look that said Ezra was a bit slow, and then swung himself up another branch and climbed onto the tarp. It caved in the middle as the Xexto boy slowly sat in the centre, like it was a nest.

"It's a hammock!" Ezra cried in sudden appreciation, and rushed to climb up and see it from above. He inspected the rope and the tarp wrapped around the tree, "Will it hold us both?" he asked, eager to try to out.

Seven shrugged. "Only one way to find out. You don't look like you weigh a lot. Maybe leave the pack." He pointed a long finger at a knobby branch behind him. Ezra slipped the heavy backpack off and hung it over the short branch and made sure it stayed put before letting it go.

He turned and using a bendy branch above, tentatively put a foot onto the tarp.

The hammock displaced as he slowly allowed his foot to rest entirely on the surface. The rope tightened and showed the strain of the added weight, but there was no sign of breaking.

Ezra carefully let all his weight settle and crouched his knees to keep his balance.

He sat there for a moment, settling in the nest and taking in the bright tree canopy and the colourful view laid out before them. It was warm up here, and dry. His belly was full, and his pack was within reaching distance; full of all the fish he'd managed to catch that afternoon and wrapped in the plastic sheeting.

Seven had even pointed out a few edible fungi on their way up from the ground and Ezra had scraped them off the tree bark and filled the inner pouch of his bag.

He didn't feel as safe a he had in the grotto, but the familiar weight of vibroblade stuck in his boot was enough to settle any nerves. He was happy to trade the mud and darkness for the soft light at the top of the trees.

Out the corner of his eye he spied Seven was watching him closely. His expression was tense, like he was trying to hide a frown, or maybe a smile.

"You know," Ezra started in a casual tone, laying back against the branch and working his legs out from under him. "If there wasn't a whole bunch of murders out there racing around trying to kill us for sport, this would feel pretty homey."

It was no _Ghost_ that was for sure, but Ezra felt the safest he'd felt in weeks up here in the dappled sunlight with his new partner. This was a galaxies difference to hiding in a damp cave. Everything seemed a little more manageable now he had company again. He cracked his knuckles and then folded his arms behind his head as he leant back against the tree, finally letting some of the tension melt from his bones.

Seven nodded slowly in agreement, settling in himself and looked out to the view between the leaves.

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

* * *

Sabine tightened the wiring at the connector points and rechecked the holo-prints. Judging by the partial images she had enlarged from the feed, she was on track.

She let out a breath. "Show me the schematics of that VR-4X Model, Chop."

Chopper hummed, but switched projections. The usually grumpy Astromech had behaved for the last several hours. Even though he knew there were more efficient uses of his capabilities, he dutifully switched between screens at Sabine's request, even offering his soldering arm when needed.

Ever since Sabine's horrifying discovery about the fodder collars, she had confined herself to her cabin at every available opportunity, forgoing her turns monitoring the holo-feed, though it was not in despair.

Since Ezra's disappearance, she had felt at a total loss as to what she could do to help;she felt useless to solve the encryption codes, useless to root out any better leads, useless to locate their missing member.

But now she had a purpose, she had a task she could focus on.

If they wanted to rescue Ezra from the Trials arena, they'd need a plan that would kept him in one piece.

Sabine's talent had always been in making bombs. She was the self titled explosive artist, a visionary engineer. Ketsu had barely needed to show her how to to build a basic circuit charge before Sabine had picked it up and was crafting her own explosive designs. Give her access to the barest materials and she could build a sky melting display of both power and beauty.

But deactivating one was another matter.

One of her own design or a standard imp donator? For certain! One she had time to pull apart to study? Of course.

But these collars were a entirely different matter.

Studying the designs, Sabine knew how _she_ would have wired the charge, how _She_ would have connected the fuse and how _she_ would have connected the locking mechanisms to the power cells. But there was no way to be completely certain that her way of thinking followed that of the collars' engineers.

Trying recreate the collar bomb was like trying to draw what a Killiks's nest looked like underground with no way to know if you were right or wrong. If she made a single incorrect assumption... well, there would only be one chance to get it right.

There was a knock at her cabin door, and Sabine knew it was Zeb by the weight behind the sound.

Zeb admitted himself without waiting for a reply, entering carrying two cups of Caff. Edging around the orange astromech and abandoned prototypes strewn throughout the cabin. "You missed dinner." The Lasat noted gruffly.

Sabine did not put aside her data pad and wires, but accepted the beverage Zeb offered her. "I had a protein bar."

He grunted in response and eyed the mechanical mess and data strips strewn across the cabin floor. "I don't need to be worry'in about more than one of you."

"Then don't." Sabine told him shortly, then shook herself. She looked up from her work and tried for a smile. "You know how I get wrapped up in my projects. Don't worry."

"Made any progress?"  
The crew hadn't need ask what her new project was.

She put aside the caff and held up the prototype in her hands. It looked like a mass of wiring and circuitry to everyone else, but to Sabine it was an infuriating puzzle.

All of a sudden her work seemed amateurish and astigmatic. How could she even dare risking such a project? She wanted to abort the whole idea.

"That bad huh?" Zeb asked, his tone unaccusatory.

She dumped the prototype on top of the pile of datastrips with a grunt of frustration, an action that might've made anyone else wince. She threw her back against her seat and kicked the edge of the desk as she swung her boots up.

Zeb frowned, unsure how to approach the tightly wound girl. Chopper shut down his projector and gave the girls boots a comforting tap.

"Bwapp bwap."

He understood her need to make progress.

Sabine folded her arms tightly over her chest plate, barely glancing at the Droid. "You better go and check if Hera needs you Chop. We aren't getting anything done here."

Chopper let his extendo arms drop and huffed as he wheeled out of the room, shaking his dome in disappointment.

Zeb grunted and pointing a thumb back over his shoulder. "He's been way too quiet for my liking lately. No pranks, no rude comments. Tch, I'm almost afraid to go into my bunk at this point." He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

Sabine glanced where the droid has disappeared round the door, then looked away. Her scowl softened. "He misses Ezra." she said, her voice small.

Zeb dropped the forced smile, and scratched the behind an ear awkwardly. "Yeah. What a pair right?"

Sabine didn't reply. Drawing her arms in tighter to her body. Zeb could already see the cogs moving in her head.

He drew himself up. "Look, blaming yourself for not having all the answers won't help anyone, least of all you." he reached over gave her shoulder a heavy pat.

"You don't let a challenge take you down. You're a Mandalorian!"

Sabine relented, lifting her chin and shooting him a wry smile from under her bangs. It was hard not to appreciate the awkward Lasat. The tension in the air dissolved, and Zeb visible relaxed.

He shrugged sheepishly at his own cliched words.  
"You know if the kid were here…"

Sabine interrupted with a long suffering sigh. "He'd be in my hair telling me how amazing my work is and how…"

She was struck by an image of a sly smile and a brazen wink.

Sabine sniffed, sucking back a sob. Her eyes burned but she was sure it was due to missing so much sleep and staring at the holos for so long. Still, she scrubbed at her cheeks and heaved a deep breath to steady herself. But still she felt an emptiness in her chest.

"What if I can't do this? What do we do then?"

He had turned away a little while she had her moment, but looked at her now with a thoughtful expression, and then shrugged.

"We find another way. We always do... It's what the Kid would do. Don't give up yet." Zeb turned to leave, giving her space.

Sabine stared down at the circlet of carbon casing and wire for a long moment after he closed the door to her cabin.  
She stood up, shook out her hands, took a deep breath and looked over the pile of hardware critically.

If she couldn't safely defuse the collars, she would just have to find another way around it.

Sabine wasn't going to give up.

* * *

 **R &R** for good Karma and for Ghost Crew Emotional Support!


End file.
